


sakuraso

by fuwaesthetic



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (well it's hanakotoba but same diff), Alternate Universe, Completed, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Language of Flowers, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Slow Burn, any cw/tw will be noted at the beginning of the chapter!, main relationship is the first one and all minor ones come after that on the relationship spot jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic
Summary: Hanahaki disease—a disease in which those suffering from severe unrequited love begin to expel flowers and flower petals, until either their love is returned, they undergo a medical procedure to cure them, or they suffocate to death.It's a terrifying prospect, yet it also happens to be the most interesting case Goro Akechi's come across in a while.





	1. shukaido I

_Hanahaki Disease ( 花吐き病 ): a disease in which an infected person who suffers from severe unrequited love begins to cough up flowers or flower petals. If the love remains unrequited, or if the infection in the person’s lungs is not taken care of, the infected will eventually suffocate and die. Completely erasing all memories of the person will also get rid of the disease, but as this is difficult to achieve, most people opt for surgery. The disease is spread through contact with expelled flower petals from an infected person._

What a terrifying prospect. Goro runs his hand through his hair then rests his chin in the palm of his hand, curling his fingers over his mouth thoughtfully. Hanahaki disease… something a few of his classmates had come down with, and what he’d been asked to investigate as a result. Though what they were hoping he would accomplish, he can’t ascertain; medical issues are not his forte. Genuine mysteries and crime were.

He can’t say he’s not interested though. _It only affects a small population of people,_ the article continues, _though pandemics of it have occurred in years before, beginning in the Muromachi Era. Scientists have no definite conclusions on where it came from or how it began to…_

The buzz of his phone draws his attention and he flips it over, glancing at the name (Sae Niijima, a prosecutor he’d been in contact with for a few cases recently) and greeting her far more cheerfully than he feels. It’s just a few checks that has him rolling backwards to check his attaché-case, answering when he finds what he’s looking for, and Sae thanks him and bids him good night—

“Hold on, Sae-san. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions of my own?”

“…Go ahead, Akechi.” Though she doesn’t sound half as sure, and he chuckles.

“It’s nothing about your work, don’t worry. I’m investigating something personally, and I wanted to get your input.” He waits until she sighs and makes an affirmative noise before he pulls himself and his chair back to his desk, flipping the article back over. “Have you heard of hanahaki disease before? It’s rather rare, but—”

“Makoto’s told me there’s some students at her school that have it,” Sae answers, and the delight he feels overpowers his irritation at being cut off. “What are you investigating it for?”

“A few of my peers asked me to look into it. I declined initially, but after reading a little bit about it, I couldn’t help but want to learn more…” Goro trails a finger across what he’s already read to reaffirm it, gaze lifting to the ceiling. “Do you suppose it’d be possible to visit those students?”

“They’re quarantined because of how the disease spreads. Only those with clearance—like family or close friends—can get in, and that’s as long as they adhere to the hospital’s rules.” That’s what he thought, and he sighs as she asks, “Is that all?”

“I suppose so. Have a good night, Sae-san. And good luck on your cases, too.”

Sae repeats the same to him, and Goro sets his phone back down; he stares at it long enough to watch the screen go black, then turns his attention back to the article in genuine. _Scientists have no definite conclusions on where it came from or how it began to spread, but its existence has been noted for several hundred years._

Something that’s been around that long, yet no one’s sure just of how it came to be. He rubs his chin, then unlocks his phone again and taps through his contacts until he finds exactly who he’s looking for. He smiles as he brings it up to his ear, hears it ring enough he’s almost certain it’s not going to be answered, and smiles wider when it is. “Takemi-san? I’m glad I caught you. I know you’re not affiliated with the official medical community anymore, but I was hoping you’d be able to help me out with something…”

 

* * *

 

Three days later, he’s standing outside of a hospital room, face covered by a flu mask; a few nurses mill about near him, casting concerned looks to the door and confused looks to him, and Goro waves cheerfully to them. He steps out of the way with a soft apology when a blonde girl (wearing a mask like his own) steps out and gives a small yelp at his closeness, and her expression turns back to worry as soon as she’s calm.

Goro sees a chance and takes it, holding out his hand. “Goro Akechi. I’m investigating hanahaki disease, as a… personal interest. Are you friends with…” he searches for the name, frowning slightly, and the girl in front of him beats him to the chase.

“Shiho. Her name’s… it’s Shiho Suzui.”

“Yes, Suzui-chan. Are you friends with her?”

“The very best,” with a slight crack in her voice, and Goro smiles apologetically, squeezing her hand when she takes his. He doesn’t hold it too long, wrapping his own around his wrist after a moment, and the girl sniffles slightly. “…Why?”

“Personal interest, like I said. But to be more specific… I think it’s intriguing that though this disease has been around for hundreds of years, there’s not a lot of information to be found on it. There’s the symptoms and how to cure it, though I admit I find those methods to be either without absolute certainty, or incredibly pricey.” He pauses, watching the girl, and chuckles behind his mask, giving a small bow of his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble there. What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking? And… how long has Suzui-chan been like this?”

“Ann Takamaki, and…” She trails off; it’s obvious she’s not entirely sure, and Goro waits for her to figure it out. “…a- a few weeks, I guess. No one realized it until she started coughing during class and these- these flowers started coming out of her mouth. She hid it really well.” Ann pauses there, eyebrows pressing together, and Goro reads her expression like a book.

“There’s no need to feel guilty, Takamaki-chan.” She looks at him, eyes wide, and he shakes his head. “If she was hiding it, she didn’t want you to worry. You couldn’t have known if she didn’t want you to.”

“I guess so,” she replies after a much too long pause, then glances over his shoulder; there’s a flash of relief, the hint of a smile in her eyes, and Ann returns her attention to him. “Um, if that’s all… can I go? My other friends are here.”

Goro glances over his shoulder, taking them in—two young men, one with blatantly bleached hair and the other with the unruliest dark hair he’s ever seen—and nods, stepping back. “Of course. Are they friends of Suzui-chan as well?”

“No, not really. Ryuji sort of knows her through me, but I wouldn’t call them friends. And,” he follows her gaze to the other one, the one with the dark hair, and offers him a smile when their eyes meet; he gets a smaller one in reply, a genuine rarity in the city, and can’t help but feel a little amused. He’s obviously from out of town, and his thought is immediately confirmed when Ann continues. “He’s new, so this year was the first time he met her.”

“He must’ve been quite shocked at her state,” he murmurs, then turns the smile to her, canting his head slightly. “That’s all I wanted to ask, Takamaki-chan. Would you mind if we exchanged contact information, though…? As I’m going to be investing a lot of my time in this, I thought you might be interested in hearing anything I might be able to learn that might help Suzui-chan better.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure, of course.”

By the time her friends join them, Goro’s sliding his cellphone back into his pocket; he gives them both a slight bow and a soft, “Please, excuse me,” before he’s heading into Shiho Suzui’s hospital room. The last thing he hears is one of them asking who the hell _that_ was—Ryuji, he’d assume, given his rude tone and his delinquent looks—and then it’s quiet, door blocking out any sound save for the gentle hum of electronics present in the room.

Shiho looks up at him when he enters, and Goro ducks his head slightly, moving forward.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your rest, Suzui-chan. I’m Goro Akechi—at the behest of some of my peers, I’m looking into the fabled hanahaki disease, and I happened to hear you were afflicted with it. Would you mind answering some questions for me?”

He can tell it’s a little much for her; there’s a pregnant pause before she nods, and he takes the chair beside her bed, fishing a notebook from his pocket. Her answers are nearly the same as what Ann told him, only more definite: she’d gotten infected at the beginning of last month, and she’d found the flowers were only really bad when she thought about the person she loved—so, by not thinking about them at length, she’d been able to keep her problem hidden. One of the other girls on the volleyball team had had it too, and Shiho had looked after her for a short while before she’d gotten sick herself; before that, she hadn’t realized just how contagious it was, honestly.

Goro nods as she answers, writing them down word-for-word, and tucks the pencil behind his ear.

“Last question, Suzui-chan, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” He straightens in the chair, resting his hands on his knees, and smiles. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, though. It’ll be off the record as well. Do you understand?”

She nods; he nods back, leans forward, and asks, “Who are you in love with?”

 

* * *

 

Goro sighs as he settles into his chair again, finally home; visiting other patients suffering from hanahaki disease hadn’t brought him any more information than what he’d gotten from Shiho Suzui. _Nevertheless_ , he thinks, _it was a good use of my time._

He sets his little notebook on the desk, flipping past the first couple of pages before he splays his fingers across them to hold them in place, pieces of his conversations with Shiho and the rest of them peeking out. He smooths it down and leans over, running through them in his head.

_Shiho Suzui, 16, a second-year student at Shujin Academy. Infected roughly a month ago. Symptoms of the infection only show when thinking of the person she has unrequited feelings for, and as a result, she managed to hide it for quite a while, though I believe this may have worsened her symptoms in the end. Caught it from one of the girls on her volleyball team, due to her not realizing how contagious it could be. Fate of teammate unknown; didn’t ask, but she didn’t seem particularly upset over it, so it’s likely the girl recovered somehow. In love with Ann Takamaki, the girl I ran into on her way out. _

_Yuki (Yukki, she insisted) Sato, 18, a third-year student at Kosei High School. Infected three days ago by her twin brother, Rin Sato. Both were admitted the other day, though Rin is in a worse state; it would seem his crush is a doctor at the hospital they’re in. Yukki’s is her teacher, Goro Kida. She coughed up several whole flowers when I introduced myself (they were small, with four asymmetrical petals, and pale pink in color), clearly because of the similarity between my name and the object of her desires. Yukki mentioned they’re both considering surgery to get rid of the infection. _

_Tatsuya Sonohara, 15, a first-year student at my own school, admitted just earlier today. I’m actually very familiar with the object of his affections—she happens to be my English teacher, Chiyo Suzuki. Suzuki-sensei is getting married this summer, and that seems to have triggered a dormant blossom (so to speak) in Tatsuya. He doesn’t recall coming in contact with the flowers, so it must have been when he was younger or purely by accident. He’s aware he has no chance with Suzuki-sensei, but he’d still like for her to give him a chance. _

The others, he recalls, were in too bad of shape to talk much, and visiting hours for that particular quarantine were ending soon. Even if he had decided to look into them, he wouldn’t have been able to cover everything he’d like to touch on. At least the three he _had_ gotten to talk to were somewhat varied, especially in their areas. He drifts back to Shiho Suzui’s _—In love with Ann Takamaki, the girl I ran into on her way out_ —and hums, resting his chin in his hand.

There’s no innocuous way to ask Ann if she loves Shiho; he’s aware of that, yet an answer would either help this case or… he wonders if it’d worsen it, if it were a bad answer. He skims his notes again, flipping pages idly, then glances at the time. A little too late to go out and ask around about the name of those flowers, maybe, and he’d been looking forward to getting home anyway…

His phone buzzes gently, and he glances at the name before he picks it up, tapping the message.

 **Ann Takamaki:** Sorry to bother you. Did Shiho say who she was in love with?

Oh. He covers his mouth, hiding a smile, and relaxes into his seat. She had, but it’d be quite the shock to Ann if he told her, he’s sure. That guilt he’d seen might even grow, depending on her feelings on the matter.

 **Goro Akechi:** I’m sorry, but she didn’t. Were you thinking of a way to help her with it?  
**Ann Takamaki:** Yeah. I thought if I could just find out who she liked so much, I could see how they felt about her. Shiho’s so great, I’d be really surprised if they didn’t like her back…  
**Ann Takamaki:** And then she’d be cured!

_Charmingly simple._

**Goro Akechi:** What if they didn’t feel the same way?  
**Ann Takamaki:** That’s…

He waits, hand resting back on the desk, and wishes Ann a good night when her only reply is "I don’t know".

 

* * *

 

Rafflesia is a small, but reputable flower shop located in Shibuya Station; it’s family-owned, though in recent years most of the younger generation has moved on to bigger pursuits. As a result, they’ve offered jobs (both part- and full-time) to anyone willing to help keep shop—mostly high schoolers, and the one helping out today seems rather familiar. It isn’t until the young man looks up to greet him that Goro realizes it’s the same boy from the hospital—Ann’s friend, the out-of-towner. The other pauses too, slightly surprised, before he gives a small bow.

“Welcome to Rafflesia. How can we help you today?”

“I wanted to ask about a flower I saw yesterday.” Goro smiles, taking his notebook from his pocket and flipping to the page. “Would that be alright?”

“I can’t say I know everything about them,” he replies, motioning him in, “but I can try.”

They spend the better part of half an hour consulting a book on the subject before Goro finally takes it from his company—Akira Kurusu, he’s introduced himself as—and taps a picture. “This is it,” he says, unable to keep the relief from his voice; he skims the name, then its meaning, and chuckles. How on the nose. “Begonia, for unrequited love.”

“Where did you see it?” Akira asks, hand out for the book; Goro gives it to him and leans against the counter, arms crossed thoughtfully.

“A girl coughed it up.” At the concerned look he’s given, Goro chuckles, gesturing idly. “She’s infected with hanahaki disease. My name is similar enough to the person she’s in love with that it made her think of him. It seems it only irritates the lungs when that happens…”

He rubs his chin, frowning slightly. “I wonder how it knows though. Perhaps it has something to do with how your body reacts…? I’d think something chemically-inclined, but it’d have to be in the infected’s brain for that, and there haven’t been any cases…”

Akira makes a sound from beside him—he’d moved over while he was talking, forearms on the counter to watch out for customers. Goro discreetly puts a little more space between them, feeling heat beneath his collar.

“I hadn’t meant to ramble,” he says, by way of apology, and from his position he can see the ends of Akira’s lips turn up.

“I didn’t mind.” Akira glances back at him, smile more visible. “Is that all you needed? I can’t let you stay back here, so…”

Goro chuckles as he nods, stepping back around the counter with an actual apology; Akira waves it off again, and the conversation dips into silence. He’s aware he has no other business here, so leaving would be a good idea, but… something keeps him rooted to the spot. He fidgets with his notebook and makes a soft sound of realization, tucking it back into his pocket with the idea in his hand instead. “Kurusu-kun, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

Akira tilts his head for him to continue, and he smiles, lacing his fingers in front of him as he does so. “It’s about hanahaki disease. I heard from Takamaki-chan that you and Suzui-chan weren’t close—” he pauses, letting his company answer with an agreeing shake of his head, “—but I was wondering if you happened to be in the same class as her? Hanahaki disease is spread by contact with expelled flowers, so I’d like to keep track of anyone who might’ve been around her at the time…”

“She’s in a different class,” he replies, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. I could ask Ann which one she’s in though and find out a few names for you?”

Goro blinks in surprise, warmth bubbling in his chest, and chuckles behind his hands. “If it’s not too much trouble, Kurusu-kun. Thank you.”

They exchange contact info with the promise of talk soon, and Goro realizes halfway back to his apartment that he's still smiling.


	2. shukaido II

It’s almost a week before he can manage to see Shiho Suzui again; she doesn’t look any better since the last time he’d been, _and_ she has company. Ann greets him weakly, one of Shiho’s hands between hers, and he clutches his attaché-case in front of him with a small nod back.

“I hate to interrupt, but there’s something I wish to discuss with Suzui-chan. Would you mind stepping out for a little bit, Takamaki-chan? I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

Ann hesitates, turning to Shiho; she’s obviously worrying her lip when she looks back up at him and sighs, giving her friend’s hand one final squeeze before she stands. “Okay. Sure. Just…” She motions him closer when she stands, and he obliges, cupping his ear for her to whisper into.

“Just don’t stress her too badly, okay? The doctors said her condition’s really unstable.”

He’s almost certain Ann’s presence isn’t helping with that, but he bites his tongue on the statement and nods. Ann smiles brightly at him, thankful, and gives Shiho a wave and a promise that she’ll be _right outside_ before she leaves. The door shuts with a heavy click, and Goro watches it for another minute before he takes the freed seat, leaning his attaché-case against the chair’s leg. He clasps his hands in front of him, leaning forward, and smiles beneath his mask.

“Are you feeling well, Suzui-chan?”

The answer comes in an immediate flurry of flower petals and seizing coughs; Goro’s up in a second, rubbing her back until the fit calms (ten minutes feeling like ten hours, her shoulders shaking violently and his ministrations doing little to help that), and he stays at her bedside just in case. Her breathing slowly evens out, and she laughs, shaking her head.

He smiles ruefully to himself, glancing at the petals. They’re just the same as Yukki’s were—the on-the-nose begonias, though these are a fair more saturated pink. Interesting. Maybe their color has something to do with the strength of the feelings, or perhaps it’s due to Shiho’s insistence on keeping it inside…

Something to dwell on later, he decides, and folds his hands in his lap; he watches her, one of her hands pressing to her chest and the other digging into the begonia petals in front of her, and he sighs.

“Why don’t you undergo surgery? I’ve met a pair of twins recently who were considering it.”

“M-Money,” Shiho replies after a moment, but it’s not the real answer; he waits patiently as she sorts out her words, and tilts his head slightly when she looks at him with watery eyes. “… I… I don’t want to stop loving Ann.”

“Even if it means living?” He asks; she’s hesitant, fingers curling tightly into her clothing and twisting it, before she nods. Goro frowns slightly. “Why?”

“It… wasn’t like it always hurt me like this. I-I’ve had good times, too.” Her gaze turns down again, lips pressed together when she’s not speaking to keep them from trembling. It’s something stronger than he’s experienced, and he feels out of place, sitting next to her.

So he moves back to his chair, and it’s quiet as she tries to keep herself from tears. She manages, though, showing a strength he’s surprised to find she has.

“I-I want to keep loving her,” she finally says, looking back to him; he swallows hard, taken aback by the determination that softens back to tears. Shiho presses her hands to her face, teeth grit, and coughs up another batch of begonia petals. “I don’t want to stop,” she sobs between choking coughs, and Goro feels the hair on the back of his neck rise with every passing second. “I don’t _w-want_ to, I just…!”

“I’m going to help you.” Shiho’s head jerks back up, eyes wide, and he feels panic flutter in his chest as petals flutter onto his gloves. How was he supposed to _help her,_ why did he— “I promise, Suzui-chan. You won’t have to stop.”

 

* * *

 

The thunder rolling in the clouds above reflects his disposition much too well, and the rain that comes cracking down a moment later makes him tighten the grip on his attaché-case, flu mask hanging loose around his neck. It’s not as if he expected this, but he hadn’t expected to promise Shiho that he’d find some way to help her either. There’s a time limit weighing heavy on his shoulders now, one he can’t see and can’t even begin to guess at. Given her condition and when she’d been infected, he supposes his deadline is sooner rather than later. April showers bring May flowers, after all.

He sighs, leaning his head back to stare at the opaque grey sky better, and jerks slightly when he feels something tap against his leg. He turns, a nervous chuckle bubbling out of his mouth when he sees it’s only Akira, his sleek, black umbrella unopened and swinging back to his side.

“I suppose you paid attention to the weather today.”

Akira shakes his head, waving his umbrella at the ground in a slow, wide arc. “Just lucky. I bought one on my way here since they were on sale, and I meant to walk Ann home, but…”

“She’s still with Suzui-chan.” Goro smiles wanly at him, shoulders relaxing as his heart starts to slow to a normal tempo. “Visiting hours aren’t going to be over for a while, so you’re probably better off coming back later.”

“Probably,” Akira agrees, then opens his umbrella. His lips part, then shut, then— “Would you like me to walk you home instead?”

Goro can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and out again, this time confused. Akira spins his umbrella, evidently serious, and he calms his chuckles with a few throat-clearing coughs. “Are you sure?”

“You don’t look like the type who likes to get soaked.” He tilts his umbrella towards him, mouth upturned slightly, and Goro shakes his head as he steps under. There’s some truth to his words, and he shouldn’t turn down an offer so callously. Especially with the rain as it was, and how far away his apartment is…

The trip to the station is quiet and uneventful; the rain’s left them lucky enough to catch a seat on the train, and Akira rests the still wet, despite their attempts at shaking it to at _least_ damp, umbrella between his legs. Goro watches him from the corner of his eye, the way he can’t sit completely still for too long—not in a restless way, but in a way that suggests he’s more used to standing up on trains, or having something to focus on. Like a book. The train jostles when it starts, making the both of them jump, and Akira chuckles when their eyes meet.

Goro feels warm under his collar again, smile stretching into something that feels vaguely unnatural even to him, and he ducks his gaze to his attaché-case. He can feel Akira’s eyes stay on him for a moment before they shift away, and Goro slowly exhales just as his company asks, “What’s in there?”

“Just… case files,” he replies, covering the lock to spin in the combination and pop it open. Akira’s kind enough to turn away, but Goro chuckles, nudging him with his elbow. “It’s fine. There’s nothing truly confidential in here—just reports on the disease I’m looking into recently.”

“Ah.” Akira turns back, grip tightening on his umbrella’s handle, and Goro distracts himself from how close they are by thumbing through the articles and pulling out one he hadn’t had the chance to finish last night. Akira hums as he glances at it, leaning back in his seat. “...It’s surprising that we only have guesses after this long of it being around.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” He sighs, mimicking his company’s position. “This one was about death rates—I know, _very_ positive—and it seems that it depends on the person infected. Personally,” he straightens the article, setting it back down neatly into his case, “I believe it depends on the size of the flower you’re infected with.”

Akira stares at him, and Goro feels compelled to explain. “There’s two cases I know of that involve begonias, the flower you helped me find. Other records show anything from roses in full-bloom, to daisies, to… well, more or less any sort of flower. _I_ think,” he continues, much softer, “that what flower grows is dependent on the person’s true feelings as well. Because the disease infects those in the throes of unrequired loves, naturally most of them will be flowers that symbolize that. But with so many different kinds reported, I can’t help but consider that there’s some—”

He stops, suddenly aware that Akira’s moved closer to hear him; their shoulders are almost overlapping, and Goro tries to swallow despite the tightening in his throat. He needs to finish his thought, before Akira’s interest turns to concern instead.

“…Some meaning to them.”

Akira nods slowly, eyebrows drawing together as he sits back and raises his fingers to play with his bangs; Goro thanks the gods above for the ability to breathe again. His personal space isn’t so often manhandled, it’s a little… indescribable, in a way.

He almost doesn’t catch Akira’s question, so wrapped up in his relief. “What if each strand of hanahaki disease has its own flower?”

It’s not a thought he’s considered too heavily, and he slowly closes his attaché-case, rolling his thumb over the numbers to secure it again. It’s plausible, at least—he has to concede that much. Finding evidence for that could prove to either be a little difficult, or the easiest thing in the world. He exhales through his nose, shrugging slightly. “That could be the case, but I’m not sure I have the time—or the resources—to check into it. I’m not sure hospitals would part with that information readily, either. I already had quite the time getting clearance to speak with them.”

Akira chuckles in a way that implies he can believe it, hand settling back in his lap, and their conversation hits a lull Goro itches to fill with some sort of conversation. His thoughts drift back to Shiho and the promise he made her, and he mentally berates himself again. There’s no guarantee that he can, but anything to keep her from killing herself on the spot thinking about Ann—

“Kurusu-kun,” he starts, just to catch his attention, “do you know if Takamaki-chan likes anyone?”

“Thinking of asking her out?” Akira asks in reply, and Goro chuckles, shaking his head.

“She’s not my type, unfortunately. I was only curious.”

Akira smiles, like it’s exactly what he was hoping to hear. “So why’d you ask?”

Goro makes him swear to his bones not to mention the matter again before he answers, detailing his conversation with Shiho in a hushed voice that has Akira cupping his ear; Goro watches his eyebrows dip together, and he leans away, folding his hands in his lap as Akira’s hand returns to messing with his bangs thoughtfully.

“I admit,” Goro sighs, gaze sliding left, “it was rather impulsive on my part, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her dying over something like this.”

The train shows his station (Ueno) before Akira can reply and Goro stares at the monitor, then motions him to follow; the conversation lulls, filled instead with the sound of rain drumming on the umbrella above them as they make their way through the streets. He can see Akira glancing around in his peripheral, ducking a little to see under the umbrella so he doesn’t have to tilt the rain onto them; he turns his face away when Akira glances at him and asks what he’s smiling about, his ears warming beneath his hair.

“You’re very touristy. That’s no surprise, since I heard you’re new to the area, but it’s very...” A soft laugh, turning back to him slightly. “Charming, I suppose.”

Akira makes a face and Goro glances away, lips twitching for another laugh. “I promise, I meant it in the best way possible. ‘Cute’ was probably a better word, but—” he glances back, catching Akira’s smirk before he turns, and clears his throat, searching for his apartment in more sincere interest. “I thought that might be a little weird to say.”

“No weirder than _charming_ ,” comes the reply, faintly teasing, and Goro bites the inside of his lip with a grin. It’s not much longer before they come to his apartment building though, with Akira staying out to shake the life out of his umbrella, and the water off it. Goro waits patiently, watching him through the glass, and raises a hand in a small wave when Akira looks up at him and grins.

 

* * *

 

His phone buzzes the moment he settles on his couch, the sky outside his window dark and the bowl of popcorn warm against his chest. Goro stares at it accusingly before he snaps it up, hitting the answer button before he even checks the name. It’s likely only Sae, or someone asking him to find a cat or something, or—

“Sorry to bother you so late,” Akira’s soft, warm voice sends pricks his skin, goosebumps rising on the hand holding the phone, and Goro hums in reply. He wasn’t expecting this, but he can’t say he’s disappointed; it’s only been a couple of hours since they last talked, and he thought their next conversation might be sometime later in the week. “Ann doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything like that. Suzui’s the only thing she talks about anymore, too, and she spends most of her time by her side.”

There’s a pause, but it feels like the kind that comes between statements, and Goro leaves it be until Akira finds the words he wants to say. A minute later, Akira continues. “I think Suzui’s chances are pretty good, if she wants to confess to her.”

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” he replies, rubbing the back of his phone with his index finger. Akira snorts, amused, and Goro closes his eyes. “I’ll let her know though. Thank you for the call, Kurusu-kun. I appreciate it.”

“You asked earlier, so…” A lull, and he makes to hang up when he hears Akira again and pauses instead. “And about Suzui’s classmates—Akemi Fujioka, Haruki Kimura, and Yuu Matsumoto are the ones closest to her. They’re all in class 2-B.”

Goro gets up to fetch his notebook, murmuring the names until he has a chance to write them down; Akira patiently waits for him to finish before he tells him good night and hangs up once Goro’s answered in return. He stares at the new information in his notebook, tapping it with his pencil thoughtfully.

The next couple of days were bound to be busy. Tonight though, he decides, is movie night, and he returns to the couch, pulling his discarded popcorn back into his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much, everyone, for all the wonderful support! the next chapter (and, spoilers, final one of this arc) will be next thursday, june 1st.


	3. shukaido III

Akemi Fujioka is a short girl, even by Japanese standards, with similarly short black hair and her skirt rolled up to her thighs. He assumes it’s to make her look more adult, given the rest of her is more reminiscent of a child. Akemi’s wide, innocent eyes hide her ability to spit acid at a moment’s notice—a fact made much more obvious when she finally gets the hint that he’s not here to smile for her.

He’s here to ask about her desk neighbor, Shiho, and—judging by the scowl she gives him when he asks after her affairs—her own failing love life.

“It’s honestly none of your business,” she snaps, and Goro commends himself for keeping a steady smile. Beneath the desk, in his lap, he’s squeezing his fingers so hard he’s almost afraid they’ll pop off. “What the fuck? You don’t just _ask_ girls that. Even if you’re as hot as you are.”

It’s probably a compliment. It doesn’t really feel like one.

“I’m asking because the disease that Suzui-chan had starts showing symptoms when the infected has a one-sided love.” He raises a hand, and Akemi shuts her mouth with a frown. “I’m not saying every crush blooms a flower, but if it’s been held in long enough and if the infected thinks there’s no chance of their feelings being returned, then that chance is higher—maybe even certain.”

Just another mystery. He wonders what Akira would have to say about it.

“I like someone,” Akemi finally grumbles, slumping in her seat, “but it’s not serious or anything. And I’m so not one of those girls that just waits for someone to tell them they like them. Like, if I like someone, I’m gonna be upfront with them. The worst that can happen is they say no, right?” She tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling, and Goro glances at his hands. No comment. “Suzui was such a shrinking violet, though. I’m _so_ not surprised she got fucked up.”

Goro thanks her for her time, then asks where he might be able to find the other two students he’d like to talk to.

 

* * *

 

Haruki Kimura and Yuu Matsumoto are a pair of girls he finds locking lips beneath the stairwell. He wishes Akemi had mentioned something about this before, pressing his back against wall and peeking around the corner to see if they’re done yet. (No.) _It’s probably some sort of petty vengeance on her part_ , he thinks, and closes his eyes.

It feels like it’s been hours by the time he hears them talking instead of kissing, and he takes a few steps back to make his entrance more natural; Haruki and Yuu both jump with a yelp when he comes around the corner, and he raises his hands, a placid smile stuck on his face like a sticker peeling at the edges.

“I don’t mean to intrude on anything.” He opens his eyes, tilting his head gently, and watches them disentangle their limbs. Haruki smooths down her hair; Yuu fixes her skirt, pulling it higher first, then lower, then higher again. Goro waits patiently, squeezing his attaché-case's handle, and when they give him their attention, he forces irritated tension from his shoulders.

“You two are in Shiho Suzui’s class, correct? I wanted to know if either of you came into contact with the flowers she coughed up a week or so ago.”

“We didn’t,” Yuu answers first, taking Haruki’s hand like she never wanted to leave it alone in the first place. “Akemi-chan sits in front of her though—” He noticed. “—and got a bunch down her shirt.”

“She screamed,” Haruki helpfully supplies, and Goro tries not to grin. It’s a frankly terrible thing, after all. “But she never takes anything seriously so we’re not, you know, really worried that she’ll get sick.”

Even if these two had gotten the petals on themselves, it didn’t seem like he’d have any reason to worry. He watches their hands, palms pressed together like they were made for each other, fingers entwined, and feels a sting of jealousy. It’s gone the next, buried by forced indifference and his hand reaching out to theirs, shaking their free ones in turn.

“Thank you Kimura-chan, Matsumoto-chan. I’ll keep an eye on Fujioka-chan regardless.”

They smile, cheeks ruddy with happiness, and Goro turns on his heel with a little more force than necessary.

 

* * *

 

Shiho smiles timidly when he steps into her room; Ann’s nowhere to be seen, though her bag’s on the ground by the bed. He’d guess that she probably went out to get food for her and Shiho, or maybe something to drink. Regardless, it means he doesn’t have a lot of time, so he stays standing and gets right to business.

“Suzui-chan, I want you to confess to Takamaki-chan.”

Shiho goes white as a sheet the second the words are out in the air. Goro steps closer, hands arcing in front of him gently, his attaché-case heavy in his left. “It’ll work out,” he continues, softening his voice, but Shiho shakes her head with a hollow laugh.

“Ann… Ann wouldn’t love someone like me, Akechi-kun.” She sounds so certain; a chill runs down his spine. A few shallow coughs, a few red-spotted begonia petals. He stares at them with a mixture of frustration, pity, and familiarity. None of that stays in his voice or on his face though, both smoothing into concern of the highest order.

“What makes you say that, Suzui-chan?”

“Ann loves all her friends.” Simple. Shiho looks down at the petals, tearing them to bits between her fingers. “But… not that way. She’s just a really… she’s very friendly.”

That doesn’t answer his question, so he repeats it. Softer, gentler. Shiho’s lips press together, hands trembling, and she coughs another flurry of red-speckled petals. The color glints in the light when he shifts back on his feet, and he realizes it’s blood.

“I-I’m not… Even if Ann makes me happy, I-I’m always so…” Tears stain the edges of her eyes. “I never _stay_ happy, and my parents wouldn’t approve—they already don’t like me hanging out with her and they never have, and- and my mother gets really frustrated with Dad and everything, a-and she—”

Another sob, choked by the tightness in her throat instead of flowers. Goro thinks of too-tight grips and of the relief of being out so easily swallowed up by stepping through a doorway. Maybe it’d never been as bad as him, but there was certainly _something_ going on. He reaches out to take her hand, rubbing a gloved thumb over her knuckles as she struggles to rein in her sobs.

“She doesn’t… it’s a lot of yelling,” Shiho admits quietly. “B-but it’s so stressful, sometimes I just… I want to stay with Ann forever and ever. I couldn’t though.” A small shake of her head to punctuate it. “I could never ask her to shoulder my burdens.”

The door slams shut. Shiho’s head jerks up immediately, eyes wide, and Goro doesn’t even have to look behind to know it’s Ann.

He wonders how much she heard. Enough, maybe, to let this work out on its own.

“We’re best friends, Shiho.” She sounds like she’s about to cry, and Goro moves to the side to let her take up his spot. Ann drops to her knees, grabbing Shiho’s hand and squeezing it. Her mask is off and around her neck, too—forgotten, obviously. “I _want_ to help you. I want to be someone you rely on, I want to be someone you can tell secrets to, I—that’s what best friends _do.”_   With a tearful laugh.

And then, almost as an afterthought. “You idiot.”

Shiho stares at her, sniffling, and laughs. Then coughs. Then a mix of the two, settling down after a fitful thirty seconds of Ann rubbing her back; she moves to the bed, one hand still gripping Shiho’s and the other wrapping around her once she’s done. Goro turns his face away, feeling as if he’s intruding on today’s second private moment.

“I love you, Shiho.” The warmth in Ann’s voice makes him smile as much as it drives a cold needle beneath his ribcage. “I really, really do, okay? And not—” Ann laughs, watery with tears. “Not the way I love my other friends, if that’s what’s really, really keeping you from believing it.”

“Mmhm.” A deep breath, stuttering out in crying laughter. “I—Ann, I love you too.”

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

 

* * *

 

It’s raining again. Goro stares at the sky with impatience, gripping his attaché-case, and wonders what the chances are of meeting Akira again. _Not likely,_ probably. He’s not even sure if he wants to see him, uneasily prickly since Haruki and Yuu this morning and made no better by Ann and Shiho’s mutually assured confession. At least her flower-suffocating death is potentially one less thing he needs to worry about.

He still isn’t completely sure why he agreed to help her in the first place. The thought of at least thanking Akira for his part drifts through his mind, and he taps a message out idly. He stares at it, thumb hovering over send, and deletes it instead, feeling foolish.

Then rewrites it three times before he finally settles on letting him know things went well with Ann and Shiho, that she should recover nicely, and that his help was appreciated. There’s no immediate reply, which is fine, he hadn’t expected one, but...

Goro sighs, watching the rain pound into puddles, and catches an umbrella out of the corner of his eye. Black and sleek, and despite his grossly irritated mood his heart jumps to his throat—it sinks right back down when he glances over and it’s not Akira. It’s just an old man, peering out into the rain before opening the umbrella with one big push that seems to take most of his strength, and Goro watches him step into the rain.

He goes home and dives into a warm bath filled to the brim with bubbles and sinks beneath the water, slightly mortified at the chagrined disappointment still sticking to him, as heavy as the thunder that rolls above.

In his room, his phone vibrates with reply, then quiets down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **shukaido - begonia, symbolizing unrequited love**
> 
> thank you so much for all your comments and support! next chapter is a bit of a breather episode; after that, we're starting another case. (ahaha, i have to get my buffer back up...) next week's update should be on the 8th, as scheduled!


	4. [breathe]

The morning of the 29th, Goro texts Ann a request to keep him updated on Shiho’s condition; she agrees, then asks why.

 **Goro Akechi:** I’d like to keep my own written record.  
**Goro Akechi:** Not many people write about the aftermath, and the latest medical journals on the disease I asked for haven’t arrived, too.  
**Ann Takamaki:** Well… If that’s all it is, then okay.  
**Ann Takamaki:** Thank you, by the way! Wait, unless I already said that?  
**Goro Akechi:** You’ve told me several times already. Regardless, it was my pleasure.

For the next three days, Ann texts him intermittently about Shiho—she’d kept coughing up petals, but they were showing signs of wear and tear; a few were even dried and dead. A more alarming text reads “Shiho wouldn’t stop coughing and then an entire _plant_ came out of her!!”

Goro notes it all, no matter where he is or what he’s doing—in class, while playing catch up on the work he’s set aside because it just wasn’t _interesting_ enough, at cafes and in the middle of stations (though he makes sure to step away first, fumbling with his small notebook). The final text—a note that she’s out of the hospital, and another text from Shiho herself thanking him for his help—ends his investigation just as medical journals arrive at his doorstep to start it up again, and he stares at them, then at the person delivering them.

He manages some thanks and his signature, shutting the door once he’s alone, and slides to the ground with a sigh.

 

* * *

 

“I still haven’t found where it originated,” he mumbles to Akira over coffee later that day, an impromptu rendezvous by being at the same cafe; Akira hums in response, busy sipping, and Goro gestures to the journals he brought. “I know how it’s spread, _mostly_ how it functions—there are still questions there, obviously—and I know how it seems to end, but…”

“You can’t get to the root of it.”

He shoots Akira a withering look for the wordplay, earning a grin in reply, and shakes his head.

“Not at all. It was understood even less in the past, and a few believed it was… some sort of divine punishment for desiring what you can’t have.” Goro smiles ruefully, tilting his cup towards himself. “Not that many, but enough that there are substantial writings on it.  Given its nature, I’m almost inclined to agree.”

Akira shrugs, fingers hooked loosely in his mug as he drags it to the side and reaches for the stack of journals; he pauses until Goro waves his hand dismissively, and he pulls them in his coffee’s place and begins to thumb through them. Goro gets the feeling he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s a little touched he’s interested enough to help him.

Interested enough _in_ helping him, he corrects, and takes a long sip of his coffee. He regrets it slightly when Akira taps his hand and he jerks involuntarily, nearly spilling the drink on him, and avoids the surprised-concerned look until it fades back into neutrality.

“Yes, Kurusu-kun?”

“It’s airborne, right?”

Goro frowns around his cup, setting it down with a careful clink against its saucer. That’d been the idea they as a society had been running with, but notes have always ever said getting _in contact_ with petals or flowers.

“As far as we’re aware of,” he replies after a moment, turning to Akira. “Yes, it’s airborne.”

“I think that makes the most sense,” Akira continues, and Goro’s eyebrows raise slightly. “It’d explain how it’s contracted and how it started, too—it’d be the flower pollen.” A beat, and he rubs the back of his neck. “That’s what I thought, anyway.”

“Not every flower though, or else we would’ve figured out how to properly deal with this ages ago.” Akira nods at Goro’s comment, and he hums; it’s fascinating what another pair of eyes will bring to the table. Or the bar, in this case. “…Yes, I think that’d make sense, too. Then it just becomes a matter of finding _which_ flower causes it, if that’s how it works.”

Akira smiles over his cup when he raises it back up, and Goro feels like he’s been rewarded; he drops his gaze instead of staring too long, warmth curling in his ribcage, and folds his hands in front of him to think about the problem at hand instead of how his company’s curled lips raises heat to his cheeks.

There’s still any number of flowers it could be though, and it isn’t as if anyone had strict records of which ones grew everywhere… At least they could begin by seeing where the reports started and where they were most numerous—it’d require, he knows, more time than he can offer, especially with summer break still far beyond the horizon. Goro sighs, tucking his hair behind his ear, already thinking about how best to manage his dwindling sleep schedule.

“Thank you for the insight, Kurusu-kun.” He smiles when he lifts his gaze, sliding off the barstool. Akira shakes his head _—it was nothing—_ to which Goro chuckles, fishing out money to set down. “It was very helpful, I promise.” He glances at the bills, then tugs the journals with the tips of his fingers, sliding his hands around them with a huff as he picks them back up. “There’s enough there to cover both of us and then some.”

When Akira’s brow crinkles and he stands, starting to protest, Goro shifts the journals in his arms and raises a hand cheerfully. “I insist! You can cover next time though, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Next time,” Akira repeats, and Goro stares for what feels like an hour before he turns away. _Next time_ , he repeats to himself, lips thinning together; a next time wasn’t even an assured thing in a city like this—the fact they’d gotten to meet by chance now was… incredible. Fated, maybe, and he smiles a little. That’s a nicer way of saying _oddly coincidental._

“I’m looking forward to it,” accompanied with a tap on his shoulder, startling him from his reverie, and Goro tilts the smile behind him.

“As am I, Kurusu-kun. Until then.”

 

* * *

 

He visits Yukki and Rin Sato the day before they’re discharged from the hospital; they’ve been moved to a room they can share, and while they both report they’re doing just fine and they’re excited to get back to their normal lives… there’s a wetness to Yukki’s eyes and a tremble to Rin’s answer he has a hard time ignoring.

Yukki insists, though, she’s much happier without the flower—without the heavy weight of unrequited love burdening her—and there’s a determination to believe that in her eyes that has him nodding despite his reluctance to let the topic drop. Rin’s gaze lay downward, at the hands clenching and unclenching in time with his breaths, and agrees with his twin.

Tatsuya Sonohara is a little harder to track down, and for good reason: he’s been moved to an observation room. The darkness makes it hard to see in through the window, even as wide as it is, though when a piece of it shudders and tumbles to the ground, Goro can see dark leaves and winding stems. _Ivy,_ he thinks, knows immediately that’s what it is, and when he catches a passing doctor’s arm, he asks about it.

“His parents aren’t keen on letting him go, and he refused to undergo surgery when he could still talk.” The doctor glances through the bare spot, then pushes Goro to a better angle. “See what I mean?”

He does.

There’s ivy of every shade of green climbing over the windows, the floor, the walls, some of them flowering tiny yellow and white buds and some of them completely free of them—and it all starts in Tatsuya’s mouth, battling with a tube for space. Goro listens with hooded eyes to the explanation he’s given (the tube is for food, the smaller ones in his nose for breathing, the IVs mainly there for water and other little things he doesn’t quite catch) and nods, clasps his hands behind his back as he steps away.

“Thank you,” he replies, tilting his head with a smile that feels too tight. “I’ll be taking my leave, then. I hope things work out for Sonohara-kun and his family.”

At least when he steps out of the hospital this time, there’s no rain. There’s nothing but blinding blue sky and the sun, quickly making everything much too warm for winter uniforms. He wishes they’d consider moving it back a few weeks and sets off to the station, pretending like he isn’t slowly dying under the persistent rays above.

He steps off in Shibuya—mostly to escape the heat in the underground mall—and slumps into a bench not long after, the cold from his raspberry milkshake permeating his gloves. The thought of going to Rafflesia passes through his mind, especially considering it’s a straight shot from where he’s decided to sit, but he doesn’t give it much more thought.

Not until he spies Akira stepping out of it and bowing to his employer, then straighten up slightly (not all the way, he has a habit of hunching a little as if to hide in the crowd—he’s noticed) and shift his bag on his shoulder. When he turns, it’s obvious he sees Goro by the way he stares and makes his way over, and Goro lowers the cold milkshake to his lap with a smile.

“Before you ask,” he starts, raising a hand as Akira trails to a stop in front of him, “I didn’t come to see you. I wanted to escape the heat.”

“So you’re not happy to see me?” Akira replies, but it’s light—teasing, really, and Goro chuckles, shaking his head before he makes room for him on the bench. Akira takes a seat, pulling his bag into his lap; when he unzips it, a cat’s head pokes out, and Goro forgets it’s rude to stare.

“…And who is this, Kurusu-kun?”

“Morgana. He’s Futaba’s cat, and Leblanc’s unofficial mascot.” The cat meows a greeting—or he’s pretty sure that’s what it is. Otherwise, it’s a cry for attention, and Akira responds to it by rubbing his head gently. Goro watches the cat curiously as Akira continues, his head tilting downward as he speaks. “He likes being outside, but we can’t exactly let him out around Yongen-Jaya, so… I just take him with me when I leave the house.”

“Even to school?” He asks, glancing at the dark uniform, and Akira pauses for a moment before he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. Goro sighs, though it’s fonder than anything else. “You’ll get in trouble for that if he’s found, you know.”

“Morgana’s a smart cat. He wouldn’t let himself get caught. Right, Mona?” The cat doesn’t reply, of course, but the silence is satisfying anyway. It stretches as he stirs his milkshake with its spoon, watching cat and boy from the corner of his eye, and he exhales softly before he looks back up.

“I wasn’t looking for you, but I _am_ happy to find you. I had a question.” A small smile as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, relishing the taste and the chill. A little sweet, a little tart; there’s definitely something else with this raspberry to balance it out, but he can’t quite pin it down… “A patient I had checked in on around the same time I was dealing with Suzui-chan—who has recovered, I’m sure you’ve heard—has ivy growing out of his mouth.” He scoops another bit of milkshake up, but doesn’t eat it yet. “Does it have a meaning as well?”

Akira hums as Goro resumes downing his milkshake, his hand idly petting Morgana’s head. “Sincerity,” he finally offers, though he doesn’t sound so sure; Goro tilts his head, thinking it over, and sighs.

“I suppose that could be it. If my theory holds water—that a person’s feelings affect the type of flower that blooms—then it would fall in line with sincerity. He didn’t want surgery: he wanted a chance to prove himself and his feelings to the object of his affections.” He holds the spoon in his mouth, watching people pass by idly. “…A sincere love.”

“It’s not a typical flower though,” Akira replies after a moment, and Goro looks down just in time to see him nimbly scoop some milkshake with a finger; he gives him a frown and scoots away, not sure if the heat under his collar is residual or if it’s because of the way Akira’s lips quirk around the digit before he pulls it out. The smile doesn’t stay for long; his face pinches and Goro laughs, turning to calm it to chuckles behind his hand before anyone takes too much notice, and misses the startled look Akira gives him.

“That’s what you get for stealing.” Goro turns back around, raising his milkshake and the spoon stuck in it, and lets the warm persist for a little longer before he straightens up, focusing back on the conversation. “And no, it’s not. There _were_ flowers though—small ones, on some of the vines—so I assume it carries the same rate of contagion as any other case.”

Morgana meows before Akira has the chance to reply; he sighs and stands, and Goro leans back against the bench so he doesn’t have to crane his neck as far. “Going home?”

“Morgana likes to eat when we do.” Another sigh, but it’s not irritated at all, and Goro nods, digging his spoon into his milkshake. Even a cat has someone to eat with—that’s very. nice. He supposes. “You should come by sometime though.”

“Ah—excuse me?”

“Leblanc,” Akira says, shifting on his feet when he raises his hand to mess with his fringe. “In Yongen-Jaya. Stop by sometime. It’d be nice to talk without leaving it completely up to chance.”

Goro stares, hands tight around his milkshake, and smiles. It feels a little stiff, so he points his gaze downwards, stirring his cold treat thoughtfully. “…I’ll be sure to,” he finally replies, glancing up to watch Akira through his bangs, and the smile he wears next is a more natural reflection of his company’s than before.

 

* * *

 

Four days later, he’s accosted by a woman—a reporter, going by her looks—wearing a flu mask; she introduces herself as Ichiko Ohya.

“And,” she draws it out, leaning closer, “the longest living victim of hanahaki disease. How’s _that_ for a scoop, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rubs my hands together]
> 
> provided i don't forget to work on things this coming weekend (GET HYPED FOR DISAPPOINTMENT AT E3), the next chapter should be up june 15th! thank you for all your support, as always.
> 
> p.s. you might notice some formatting changes. i've edited earlier chapters to reflect these as well. consistency is important. also i know i haven't given a lot of hint as to what timeline i have atm but as of the end of this chapter, we're at the beginning of may! (i get the feeling my cheeky "april showers bring may flowers" may not count towards establishing the date.)


	5. tsuruhananasu I

He’s not quite sure he heard her right. He becomes even less sure as she continues.

“I’ve been following this for, ooh, three years now? Something like that. My partner and I, we both found this pretty interesting. Probably for the same reason you did, Mr. Amateur Detective. Oh, and because,” she taps her clipboard, “my partner caught it, too.”

A beat. Goro’s not sure what he’s expecting, but _I probably got it from her_ isn’t it, exactly. Didn’t they even try to reduce contagion…? At least she seems to be interested in keeping other people from getting sick now. He still takes a step back, smile stretching the definition of pleasantly surprised.

“How did you know I’m looking into hanahaki disease?”

“Got a tip from a friend,” Ichiko replies dismissively, waving her hand. “He’s real cute. Full of great info, too. Anyway, that’s _so_ not the point here, Goro-chan.”

“Akechi,” he corrects her, cheeks heating at the familiarity extended to him. “Just Akechi is fine, Ohya-san.”

Ichiko stares, then laughs, and repeats herself. _Goro-chan._ They make plans to meet again in Shinjuku in the evening—he has school to get to for now, she has an article to write—and Goro watches her leave, tired irritation morphing into curiosity. If she’s to be believed, then… that truly would be an interesting thing. An incredible feat.

 

* * *

 

Class is nothing more than muted chatter he spends most of his time twirling his pencil in, crowded in the middle of the room. Sometimes he’ll check his phone, skimming through various requests and tips—the majority of them the “find my lost pet” kind, which he… has been ignoring in favor of reading journals and catching up on schoolwork. Maybe he should invest some time in clearing those.

 _Maybe_ turns into _certainly_ when he clicks a picture and sees Morgana’s eerie blue eyes staring out at him; he checks the number and finds it’s Akira’s, of course, and there’s a cheeky emoji to go with it. _He jumped out the window,_ the message reads. _Help me,_ _Goro Akechi! You’re my only hope!_

The reference makes him smile against his fist, and instead of spending the afternoon sunk into his couch as he leafs through medical journals (while waiting for the scientific ones to finally get to his apartment), he makes the trip to Yongen-Jaya. It’s a fairly nondescript part of Tokyo—very quiet, he notes, once he steps off of the train and almost no one else follows. He almost wonders how anything can stay in business around here and surmises they must have a loyal following from the residential area mixed in among the shops.

Leblanc isn’t as easy to find as he thought it would be—he has to ask three people for directions before he finally manages it, having evidently either walked past it several times or just gone too far. It’s a rather unassuming storefront, all things considered, and he studies it for a few minutes before he goes in. The door chimes cheerfully when he does so, and Akira’s head raises from the bar.

“Welcome to—oh.” He pauses, staring, then offers him a small smile that feels like a secret between friends. “You came.”

“You invited me, and I believe you’re missing your cat as well?” Goro smiles back, raising his phone for emphasis. “I can’t imagine he’s gotten far—”

The door opens, interrupting him, and he barely steps out of the way of a yowling cat; a gruff-looking older man sighs as he steps in. He gives Goro a glance, then turns to Akira. “Glad you didn’t make off with anything while I was gone.”

Akira’s smile wanes when he shakes his head, and he busies himself with bussing the counter again. Morgana hops into one of the seats, and Goro takes the one just beside him, setting his attaché-case on the ground. Partially so he can pet the black tuxedo cat, and mostly because it’s the one in front of Akira. The other boy’s smile warms slightly when he notices, and Goro leans forward, lacing his hands together.

“I suppose you don’t require my services anymore.”

“Guess not.”

Morgana meows and Goro loosens one of his hands to idly scratch him between the ears, chuckling. “Well, that’s fine. I’ll just have some coffee and be out of your hair in a heartbeat.”

“Stay as long as you like.” A beat, and Akira leans closer; beneath the warm scent of coffee and curry, there’s the sweetness of flowers and earthy dirt, and Goro finds he enjoys the mix more than he thought he would. “Boss doesn’t get that many customers thanks to his personality, so the more patronage, the better.”

The café’s owner gives him a look that’s somewhere between irritated and halfhearted sternness, and Goro nods, turning his attention to Morgana as Akira lets his boss know. The older man waves his hand and tells him he’s allowed to make it—think of it as on-the-job practice—and Akira sets to doing just that. There aren’t many customers aside from him; in fact, there aren’t _any,_ and he feels tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders slowly seep out. The smell of coffee and curry, a cat purring against his hand, Akira’s brows drawn together in concentration, the way his hands turn the cup this and that way, how his cheeks turn pink when their eyes meet—

Goro flicks his gaze away, the room feeling about five degrees warmer, and watches the news with forced interest.

The segment is troubling; ten more students have perished across the Tokyo Metropolitan area from hanahaki disease, though the government is hesitant to call it a pandemic until more cases arise. He frowns, apologizing when Morgana meows at him and ducks away from his hand, escaping to the next seat over. A hot cup of coffee gets set in front of him, and when he looks up, Akira’s watching the news, too.

“There could be plenty of people who haven’t said anything about it,” Akira mumbles, voicing his thoughts perfectly. Goro nods, slipping his fingers around the cup and sighing at the warmth permeating his gloves. Something colder might’ve been a good idea, but coffee had never let him down, either. He feels Akira’s gaze turn to him, steadily intense, and Goro takes a sip. The aroma is good, and the taste is warm and fruity—there’s notes of sweetness, too. It’s a lovely cup of coffee, prepared with the utmost care.

It makes his heart twinge.

“It tastes like an amateur’s work,” he teases, warmth bubbling to the tips of his fingers at Akira’s frown and his boss’s snort. “But I like it. I’m looking forward to sampling your progress, Kurusu-kun.”

The moment, comfortable in the silence that follows, is broken by the chime of the door. Goro glances over, stares for a moment, and finishes his drink with a speed that scalds the back of his throat. He clears it, standing, and holds his hand out to the woman stopped in the doorway. She glances down at it, and when it’s clear that she’s not planning on shaking it, he lets it drop to his side.

“Takemi-san,” he says, ignoring the sting that threatens to bring tears to his eyes every time he talks. “I was hoping I’d be able to speak to you; it’s about a woman I met this morning who mentioned staving off her infection for a few years…”

Tae Takemi stares at him for a moment, then sighs, turning on her heel. “All right. Sojiro,” she calls over her shoulder, gaze landing on Akira briefly before it skips to the old man, who cocks his head in an _I’m listening_ motion, “get my usual. I’ll be back to grab it once I get this kid settled.”

Sojiro nods, retreating to the kitchen, and Goro sets money on the counter and picks up his attaché-case. “Thank you for the coffee, Kurusu-kun. I’ll be by again sometime.”

 

* * *

 

Tae’s private practice is even harder to find than Leblanc, but for a very different reason: it’s deliberately tucked out of sight, and he’s not sure that, without her help, he would’ve found it, even if he _had_ known it was in Yongen-Jaya in the first place. The waiting room is empty, and he follows her to the examination room, taking a seat on the cot when she motions for him to; he sets his attaché-case against the wall, folding his hands in his lap.

“So?”

“Her name is Ichiko Ohya, and she’s a reporter. I’m supposed to meet her in Shinjuku later to talk more, but she told me she’s been inflicted with hanahaki disease for quite some time now.”

“Two years,” Tae replies, turning to her desk and running her finger down manila folders. “Given her x-rays at the time, she’d been infected with the disease for at least three months before that, but symptoms only started appearing after Kayo Murakami—her partner, of the work variety—became unresponsive.”

“So she’s alive,” Goro replies, thinking of Tatsuya Sonohara, and Tae nods, tugging out the file she needs and flipping it open. “I see. Did Ohya-san come to you for help regarding… all of this?”

“Kayo was my patient in the first place. I have a medicine that staves off the disease—think a weedkiller, but weak enough for human consumption—but since it’s not as potent it can’t kill the disease entirely. Her family was very…” She drums her nails against the open file, staring at a picture. “Angry, to say the least, that I couldn’t fix her. They managed to pull a few strings and get me fired, and here I’ve been since.

“Ichiko Ohya felt the same, but we ended up working out an agreement that benefitted us both. And still does.” Tae looks up at him and smiles slightly, crossing her legs. “If you don’t want to go to Shinjuku, you can wait here for her. She’ll be needing a refill on her medicine anyway.”

“If you don’t mind my imposition, then I’d be happy to.” Goro bows his head slightly, then clears his throat. “Ah… Takemi-san, do you happen to have anything to help with sore throats? I’m afraid my coffee was hot when I, er… made the mistake of downing it all in one go earlier.”

Tae smiles like she wants to laugh; he’s grateful when she doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Tae Takemi is a very prolific doctor. She’s also incredibly terrifying when she’s angry.

Goro’s been pushed out to the waiting room, but he can hear her voice through the walls anyway; it hasn’t raised too much (Ichiko is louder, whining piteously), but there’s a hot edge to it. The door opens beside him and he straightens up, bowing his head. “Is… everything alright?”

“Patient confidentiality,” Tae replies, and she jerks her head to the examination room. “You can go in now, though. I’m done scolding her, and I need to go pick up my dinner before Sojiro decides it’s better off in the trash.”

Goro nods and steps past her, shutting the door with a soft click. Ichiko looks more like a sullen teenager than a functional adult, though her expression brightens up when she finds her new company is him instead of her doctor. He takes a seat beside her when she pats the cot, then rests her chin in her hand and grins at him, judging by the way her cheeks raise beneath her cloth mask.

She reeks of alcohol, and he discreetly puts a little more distance between them.

“Your partner was Kayo Murakami, correct?” Her grins drops immediately, and he takes that as a yes. “Takemi-san mentioned that she’s unresponsive. I assume that means she’s alive?”

“If you can call that _living,_ ” she replies, sitting back on her hands, her words slightly slurred, “then yeah, she’s still around. Can’t talk or do much of anything though.”

She mimes something growing from her throat, hand loosely curved and flicked by her wrist. He nods.

“I know a patient who has a similar… issue. His parents are resolute in finding some way to cure him.” He drops his gaze, laugh slightly scathing; he knows it’s his own resentment, that there would be people who’d want their son around. People are so lucky, and they never realize just how fortunate they are. “I think it’s a fool’s errand, but I know you think differently. You wouldn’t be trying so hard for Murakami-san’s fate if you didn’t.”

“I do want to save her,” Ichiko admits, but something in her tone makes him look up; she’s glancing aside, at the manila folder lying open on Tae’s desk, “but I won’t deny it’s, like you said, a fool’s errand. But _dammit,_ ” he jumps when she slams her fist on the cot between them, “if that makes me a fool, then _fine._ ”

It’s the same anger and determination he’d seen when Shiho had proclaimed she didn’t want to give up loving Ann—the same raw emotion, far greater than anything he’s been allowed, and the room suddenly feels so much smaller.

“You love her,” he says, voice tilting at the end like it’s a question, and Ichiko stares at him for a minute before she sighs and nods, slumping back.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You reminded me of someone I helped last month, that’s all. I’m sure I wouldn’t have jumped immediately to that train of thought otherwise.” He smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way; her slump doesn’t decrease though, so he lets it fall again and adopts a more interested look. “Do you know who she was in love with?”

Ichiko groans, slumping _forward_ this time; he stands immediately, narrowly missing her arms, and she gives him a hard look before she turns her face into the crook of her elbow with a sigh.

“Sorry, but no.” She rubs circles in the sheets, and he hesitates before he takes Tae’s seat; he sets his hand on the open file, but doesn’t look. “We were just… work partners, sort of. I mean, we totally went out for drinks and food a lot? And we even started living together! But it was for work. It’d be easier to collaborate and work on things together if we were closer. At least, it should’ve been, but I just kind of…”

She wiggles her fingers uselessly, and he glances away. She fell in love, and her feelings were unrequited—made blatantly obvious by her partner showing symptoms prior. Goro nods, watching the door.

“And you never found out because…?”

“She never wanted to tell me, and then she _couldn’t._ ” Ichiko sits up in his peripheral, stretching as she scoots to the middle of the cot and pulls her legs up with her. “I dunno why I didn’t start throwing up petals as soon as she did, but I didn’t.”

“Maybe you still thought you had a chance,” he replies, tilting his head towards her. “Despite the fact the flowers take root in a person’s lungs, they seem to be very in-tune with how people perceive things. I wanted to ask Takemi-san if there was a reason for that.”

The door opens and the doctor herself steps in, a plate of curry balanced on her hand. His cheeks warm (speak of the Devil) and he moves from her seat, preferring to lean on the wall, and watches her clear her desk and set her dinner down. She gives him a hard look, likely searching for if he looked at the papers, but turns back to her plate eventually.

There’s no way she hadn’t heard that, so he waits. Her answer comes after a few bites, given as she leans back in her seat to look up at him.

“Biological response is the only thing I could think of. When you see someone you like, you feel different, right? Your heart beats faster, it’s harder to breathe. Things like that.” She takes another bite, chewing slowly, and waves her spoon at him. “When it’s unrequited and you know it, you still have the symptoms of love—your body just also experiences _heartbreak_ at the same time, which brings with it a plethora of other symptoms. Aching, shaking, stress, and crying, among others.

“And it’s not easy to just stop loving someone.” Tae glances at Ichiko, who huffs and crosses her legs under her. “It’s just something you have to ride out.”

He doesn’t ask if she’s ever been in love or if this is a result of her studies—it doesn’t seem proper to, so he lets the moment pass and nods, giving her a small bow.

“Thank you very much. Ohya-san,” he turns to her, bowing slightly as well, “thank you for your time. Where in Shinjuku can I find you? I’d like to talk more, but I don’t want to impose on Takemi-san more than I have to.”

“Crossroads. It’s a bar. Don’t worry,” she continues when he opens his mouth to remind her he’s a student and thus underage, “Lala-chan won’t give you grief unless you try to order something alcoholic.”

He shuts his mouth and nods, glancing at Tae for another moment before he smiles. “Takemi-san, if you could find some files that aren’t too confidential, I’d like to study them on my own time. You can have them delivered to my apartment.”

He scribbles the address on a pad she hands him, and gives her another bow. “Thank you again. I really should be going, seeing as it’s getting late…”

Goro leaves when she gives him a wave and her attention turns to Ichiko, who pouts at her and slumps back against the wall; he smiles briefly and finds himself pause in the street a few minutes later, watching the sun set over Leblanc. His throat stings when he remembers downing hot coffee in a hurry, despite the hours (and soothing, bitter cough drop) having passed since, and he massages it gently.

 _There’ll be time for another visit later,_ he thinks. For now, getting home and sorting through his new information—as well as awaiting the doctor’s files—is paramount.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a lot of fun writing ohya and takemi, to be honest; they're some of my favorite confidants. as always, thank you for your support! it brings me life and keeps me going, you've got _no_ idea how happy it makes me. june 22nd is the next update.


	6. tsuruhananasu II

Crossroads is an incredibly… interesting bar, even for Shinjuku. It’s owned by an older woman named Lala Escargot (an obvious pseudonym), whose gravelly voice is near-constantly responding to the jabs Ichiko gives her. Goro swings his attaché-case between his legs idly, watching them snipe at each other with a fondness that makes his stomach curl, and smiles when Ichiko finally groans her defeat and slumps against the counter.

Lala gives him a look, but steps away to give them privacy.

“The medicine Takemi-san gives you helps with your infection, correct?”

“It’s like,” she drawls, tilting her glass back and forth, “cough medicine, but for like, flowers. It kills any potential buds,” she tilts the drink towards him, head lolling to the side, “but not the roots. Or whatever. I dunno how you can’t just make somethin’ that does that too.”

“I’m sure it’s risky business, trying to find something that acts as a weedkiller without being harmful for humans to ingest.” The doctor had implied the potency issue in their talk anyway; he’s safe making the assumption it’s likely that’s the biggest hurdle in her research. “When was the last time you expelled petals, Ohya-san?”

Ichiko hums, sipping her drink, and wiggles it between her fingers. Two weeks, she answers, when she missed a dosage because of work—they’d come out full flowers, pristine white, though they hadn’t _always_ been that. At first, they’d been a lavenderish purple, and as time progressed, they faded like something left out too long in the sun. She describes the shape, their size, their smell as he asks, and he notes it down in his pocket journal.

He also notes that this time, he actually _does_ know the flowers she’s infected with. They’re jasmine nightshade, an ornamental favorite of one of the homes he’d stayed at. He liked them, too; they grew tall enough to hide any child sufficiently, and he’d often read in them without worry. Before he’d been moved elsewhere, at least, and Goro nods as he shuts his small notebook.

“Thank you, Ohya-san. One more thing—” he pauses, twirling his pencil between his fingers. “The friend you mentioned, the one who told you I was investigating the disease… Was it Kurusu-kun? He helped me with an earlier case, and he’s been a good antithesis for my theories as well.”

 _And he’s cute,_ his mind helpfully adds without him asking, and he twirls his pencil quicker around his fingers to distract himself. Ichiko nods, then slams her glass on the bar hard enough to make him jump.

“Lala-chan, get me another drink! Goro-chan’s totally ruthless when it comes to interrogation, I reaaaally need another…” It’s such a whine that he finds himself surprised she’s _actually_ an adult, and Lala seems to echo his sentiments with the look they share. Ichiko giggles when her cup’s taken, turning back to Goro. “He mentioned while he was workin’ here one night—” _(isn’t he too young to work in a bar?)_ “—that he had a friend who was checking out the same thing I was and thought we’d get along.”

She pauses, taking the cup when Lala offers it back. “Or something like— _Lala-chan,_ this is waterrr! I wanted more beer!”

“You’ve had enough for tonight,” she replies, flicking Ichiko’s hand away when the reporter tries to grab her. She directs her attention to Goro, studying him, then moves to wash glasses. “And you should get home before it gets late, kid. Shinjuku’s nightlife’s not friendly to young people like you.”

“I know,” he replies, standing to leave. “Thank you for your time, Ohya-san, and your concern, Escargot-san—”

“ _Lala-chan_ ,” she corrects sharply, setting a dried cup aside and picking up a wet one.

He hesitates, then bows his head. “Lala-chan. Ohya-san,” he raises his head again, smiling slightly. “I’m  not sure how much I can do for you, but I would like to help you regardless. I don’t believe Takemi-san’s medicine is meant to be taken for a long period of time—doubtlessly you’ll begin to develop an immunity to some aspects of it, if you haven’t already.”

Ichiko shrugs, splaying against the counter, and mutters something that sounds like _yeah, I know._

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Goro drags himself out of bed to answer his ringing doorbell. He unlocks the door and pulls it open without peeking through first, growling a soft _What_ and feeling the rest of it die in his throat at Akira’s appearance. Akira looks him up and down—sizing up his state, not checking him out—and smiles slightly when he holds up a plain-looking white binder.

“Takemi sent me,” he says as way of explanation, and Goro yawns as he motions him in, stepping back a few feet before he turns properly. He knows he looks a mess, but he doesn’t realize how much of one he is until he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he keeps at the doorway of the living room. He stares, hair unruly and shirt untucked, top three buttons undone, and his awful sleeping habits apparent on his face.

Ugh. He needs coffee.

“Just put it on… somewhere.” He rubs his face, thinks, then adds, “Counter.”

Akira chuckles, but nods, following him into what barely passes for a kitchen in his apartment and setting it down on the counter as Goro reaches up to rifle through his cabinets for something instant. He rolls his eyes at Akira’s shocked expression, the impact of it thoroughly ruined by the grin pushing through, and waves the box in his face. “It tastes _fine,_ thank you. Do you want some?”

“I’m good.”

Goro nods, setting it down and moving to make some; he sees Akira push off from the counter and wander away, and he watches the water boil while he tries to run the state of his apartment through his stuffy head. It’s clean, at least, and there shouldn’t be anything too confidential or incriminating out. The smell of coffee as he pours water into grinds makes him sigh—instant or not, it’s a wonderful aroma—and he finishes it off with some milk and honey before he nurses it his way out of the kitchen, sinking into the couch beside Akira.

“…I’ve been working,” he mumbles to his curious look. “There aren’t enough hours in a day or days in a week to accommodate me at this point.”

“Splitting the work might help with that,” Akira replies, stretching his arms above his head, and Goro snorts, taking another sip.

“I won’t be able to claim cases as my own work if I have help with it.” Accomplishment and recognition—they’re not particularly _noble_ goals for detective work, but they’re necessary for being taken seriously. A few people already do (Sae Niijima comes to mind immediately), but not enough if he wants to be an actual detective.

It belatedly occurs to him Akira _probably_ meant his interest in hanahaki disease, and he turns to him, resting back on the arm of his couch. “You didn’t mean my actual casework, did you.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start with that,” Akira replies, his mouth quirking at the side, and Goro sets his cup on the end table behind him carefully. “So?”

Another pair of hands would be nice, and Akira’s been a good soundboard, among other things. He hums thoughtfully, already feeling more awake, and runs his fingers through his hair to try and make it a little neater.

“All right.” Akira’s smile is borderline sunny at the answer, and Goro tilts his head down under the guise of getting more of his hair through his fingers, cheeks hot; he’s thankful his voice comes out fairly even, despite the quick skip of his heart. “Do you remember when we talked about finding the flower that causes it? I pinned down a few possible areas based on where most of the cases were recorded hundreds of years ago, but I can’t help but feel like that’s not all of them… And to top it off, I haven’t been able to find any horticultural records that aren’t farming-based. I honestly _doubt_ that a vegetable or fruit flower is the cause of it.”

He looks back up once he’s certain there’s no unnecessary warmth left in his face to find Akira staring at the ceiling, arms behind his head. He looks like he’s deep in thought, eyebrows dipped and lips thin. His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, the rise and fall of his chest slow and easy, and Goro idly scrutinizes his form as he reaches back to grab his coffee again, drawing his legs up onto the couch. He wonders if the litheness is natural, or if he has to do something to keep it; neither would be surprising, though he feels a little bit of envy if it’s the first—even _he_ has to work to keep his figure. He sips his drink, lips pursed, and flicks his gaze back up just in time to catch Akira’s.

His heart skips another beat without him asking it to at the close call of embarrassment, and he smiles uneasily around the lip of his mug.

“Any ideas?”

“I don’t think it’s a vegetable or fruit flower either,” Akira replies, sliding until he’s resting on the arm opposite him. “If you want, I could take over that stuff. It’s just research.” A beat. “I’m good at research, and I’m sure I could ask Nozomi-san, uh,” he stumbles at Goro’s immediately questioning look, “the owner of Rafflesia—anyway, I’m sure I could ask her if she has any ideas, too. She mentioned her family’s been in the flower business for hundreds of years, though I don’t know if… that’s _true_ or anything…”

“It’s a better lead than nothing,” Goro sighs, closing his eyes. “Thank you, Kurusu-kun. I’m most grateful for your offer, and I’d be happy to take you up on it.”

He thinks about Ichiko Ohya and her partner, how they’d worked together on researching hanahaki disease, and quashes his errant feelings. Things wouldn’t turn out that way for him and Akira, because—they just wouldn’t, he decides, gut twisting at his lack-of a real reason.

Ah, though. Ichiko. He opens his eyes, tilting his head slightly.

“About Ohya-san, Kurusu-kun. I heard you’re familiar with her?” At his nod, Goro sips his drink and nods, too. “She mentioned she had a cute informant, and you were the only one I’ve talked extensively about this with… I don’t suppose you know the details of her condition?”

Akira shakes his head, and Goro thinks about patient confidentiality. Well— _he_ wasn’t being held to it, at least, and when he tells Akira to fetch the binder he’d left on the counter, he does so. Goro sets it on his legs when he takes it from him, flipping it open and skimming the papers inside; they’re newer than he expects, which he assumes means Tae had written them fresh just for him. Likely to cut out names outside from Ichiko’s. He’s right when Kayo Murakami isn’t mentioned except as _her work partner,_ and he leans his legs down to let the binder slide toward Akira.

“She’s in love with a woman she worked with,” he starts, watching Akira take the binder and read the page it’s opened to thoroughly. “But that woman is currently in a state of… she’s alive, but indisposed, to put it lightly. Ohya-san didn’t start exhibiting symptoms of hanahaki disease until _after_ her partner was overtaken by her infection, though she’d long held affection for her before that. I suggested that it was because she thought she still had a chance…”

He trails off, sipping his coffee and pursing his lips at its temperature—on the weird edge of slightly too cold to be hot, but not enough to be lukewarm—and shrugs when Akira looks up at him.

“I’d like to help her and her partner, but I’m not entirely sure how.” He sighs softly, glancing away. “Adding onto that, Ohya-san is currently the test subject for a medicine Takemi-san has been working on for years now to combat hanahaki disease... Ohya-san’s partner was her former patient, but as she no longer works in the medical community due to some unfortunate circumstances, she doesn’t have access to her anymore.”

“You think it’d mess up her research if Ohya was cured,” Akira says after a moment, reaching up to play with his bangs, and Goro nods. “…I can see where you’re coming from,” he continues, gaze dropping, “but I think it’d be better if she got better. Her and her partner.”

“Her partner’s probably too far gone to help through anything but some sort of medical procedure.” He doesn’t mean to sound so dismissive, but he’s aware he does, especially when Akira’s eyebrows leap under his bangs. Goro turns his face away, fingers caging his mouth softly. “Ohya-san’s continued condition might be the only thing that could help her in the long-run. If Takemi-san can just perfect her medicine, then she’d be saving Ohya-san, her partner… Hundreds of other people, too.”

“But we could try to help her _now,_ ” Akira retorts, hand dropping to his lap. Goro stares at him and laughs, unable to quell it even as Akira’s eyebrows draw together and his face reddens slightly. “Akechi—”

“I see your point—I might not agree with it, but I see it,” he manages between laughs, clearing his throat after a moment and tempering his grin into a polite enough smile. Akira frowns at him, leaning back, and Goro shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “I’m not laughing at you, Kurusu-kun, I promise. I was just taken by surprise.”

“Sure.” A soft sarcasm soaks his tone, and Goro sighs, setting his drink aside and scooting closer.

“I mean it, Kurusu-kun. I’ve always appreciated your input, and this time is no exception. I just believe…” He pauses, looking for the _right_ words in his clearing mind. “I believe that the needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few. I don’t mean that Ohya-san deserves to be at risk of dying,” he continues as Akira’s mouth opens, and he leans forward on his hand, sliding closer to Akira, “but at the same time, she _is_ doing a great service by helping Takemi-san out. Don’t you think that’s important? If Takemi-san can find a way to cure hanahaki disease, we’d _never_ have to worry about it again. It’d become as easy to solve as—as, I don’t know, as _measles_ or something.”

Akira waits for him to finish before he shakes his head, leaning forward, too—he’s incredibly sharp in his vision, and Goro realizes he hadn’t bothered putting in his contacts; he hadn’t noticed the blurriness until a clearer vision had been shoved in his face.

“What if it’s more like the flu? Every strand is different, and it evolves to combat what we can do.” He waits, letting the words sink in before he keeps on. “What if it does the same thing as surgery—it forces you to lose how you feel about someone? What if the only way to safely get rid of hanahaki disease is to let it die on its own?”

Goro feels himself scowl more and more with every passing word—he’s aware that Akira has a point, all of it, but— “The only way it dies on its own, Kurusu-kun, is by _requited love,_ if you can’t recall. Not _every love_ is going to be like that—in fact, a great many aren’t. That’s why the mortality rate is so high. Not _all_ of them are based on pure misconception the way Takamaki-chan and Suzui-chan’s was. Besides,” he moves forward, bearing down on Akira until the other boy’s forced to lean back again—and even then, Goro continues his advancement, hands settling on either side of him, legs sliding between his. “Besides, Kurusu-kun, I’ve _met_ people who’ve gone through with the surgery. They said they were happy—they said they were _thankful_ for the removal of those damnable feelings. What do you have to say to that?”

Silence falls like a curtain between them, breaths mingling until Akira’s hands come up and rest on his shoulders; Goro doesn’t know if he’s going to pull him in or push him away, and he doesn’t mind the first half as much as he probably should. Still, still, Akira chooses the second, frustration painting his features in a shade of shallow, angry red as he gets them both to sitting up again.

“I don’t think you can trust words when it comes to how someone really feels.” It’s a whisper, like Akira’s afraid he’ll shout if he goes any louder. Goro swallows past the hardness in his throat and pulls his hands to his lap, lacing them together. Akira lets his hands drop between them, fingers curling. “Actions speak louder. The way someone looks speaks louder. Words don’t mean a thing.”

“Then why do love confessions hold such sway?” He keeps his voice low too, hands squeezing together. “Can four words—can a reassurance—can anything like that _really_ heal hurt? Can they really save someone, Kurusu-kun?”

“If it’s what the person wants to hear and they believe it,” Akira replies, shoulders squaring. “Not everyone’s going to want to, though.”

Goro wonders if that’s what he truly believes, or if he’s playing devil’s advocate. He decides not to ask, pulling back to the other side of his couch and wrapping his arms around his legs when they come to his chest. The quiet is so unlike their others, simmering and tense, and it doesn’t dissipate even when Akira lets out the breath he’d been holding and leans over, picking up the binder that’d fallen to the ground and setting it in his spot when he stands. Goro stares at it, resting his chin on his knees, then flicks his gaze up to Akira.

Akira rubs the back of his neck, not looking at him at all, and mumbles something about going home to start on that research. Goro opens his mouth, then buries it into his pants, humming in acknowledgement.

The charged silence remains long after Akira leaves, and it unsettles him in a way he can’t begin to place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your support, as always, you all make me so giddy! i've been out a laptop most of this week (though one should be getting here friday...? hopefully?) so i haven't been able to write much. thank goodness for buffer chapters, i guess; you all don't have to suffer without one this week. ~~anyway, the next chapter might be late next week, so i'll hold off on saying any exact dates.~~
> 
> ~~i'll try to have it ready by next thursday though, promise.~~
> 
> EDIT: the next chapter will go up as scheduled, june 29th! thank you for reading!


	7. tsuruhananasu III

Several days pass in the radio silence between him and Akira—he’s aware they’re both avoiding each other, more out of a stubborn sense of pride than anything else—but it’s not as if it’s a fruitless silence. Jasmine nightshade, he learns from Nozomi when he visits Rafflesia on a day he knows he won’t find Akira working on, means something akin to “loneliness”. It suits Ichiko in a variety of ways, and he buys a bouquet of lavender and light blue flowers as thanks for her help.

He also learns Kayo Murakami visited a fortune teller named Chihaya Mifune in Shinjuku frequently before she succumbed to her infection and that she was infected with akebia, a small flower with a tendency to wander and climb the way ivy does.

Goro decides to take care of the first before he investigates akebia’s meaning, though Chihaya’s busy enough most nights to almost make him reconsider his decision. Almost. The sight of Akira ducking into Crossroads reignites both the irritation he’d felt that morning and the twisting desire to smooth things over and pretend none of it matters that’d been left in its wake once it’d calmed, and he turns to find the stool in front of him clear and Chihaya waiting with a patient smile.

“I don’t get many young men stopping by my stand… Anyway, tell me your name, and I’ll read your fortune in my cards.”

“Ah, no. Maybe later, but right now,” he waves his hand, smiling widely as he takes a seat, “you’re the one I’d like to consult, not Fate. I heard a certain Kayo Murakami frequented your stand? It was a few years ago, but…”

Chihaya frowns slightly, shuffling her deck, and tilts her head. “Can I ask for more information…? I’ve had a lot of business…”

“Certainly. My apologies for assuming you’d remember. Now—”

Goro takes the time to go over what he knows, watching Chihaya’s expression slip from confusion to shock, then finally to a bitter sorrow. She hums quietly when he’s done, setting cards face down on the table seemingly out of habit, and finally nods. “I remember her,” she says after a moment fingers lingering on the center card before her hand moves back to the edge of the table, resting there. “Her future… was very grave. I told her if she continued down the path she was on, she’d find herself drowning in unimaginable pain.”

Well—that’s definitely an interesting way to put it. Not incorrect either, and he sighs, lacing his fingers together.

“Did she heed your warning?”

“She told me she couldn’t stop pursuing her project.” Chihaya smiles, but it’s thin and pained. “Someone she cared for was working hard on it.”

Goro’s heart skips and he leans forward, feet braced against the ground. “Someone she cared for—the person she loved?”

Chihaya shakes her head, and Goro stares at her for a moment before he forces himself to relax and lean away. No—no, of course not. Like he’d told Akira, most cases are hopeless. Most cases aren’t like Shiho and Ann, and he stares at the cards in front of him.

He lifts his head when she offers to read his fortune again, and he considers it; he looks at the cards again and sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “To repay you for helping me out,” he replies, and she grins slightly when he adds, “Any sort’ll do. I don’t have much of a preference, so…”

He gives her his name when she requests it and plays with his fingers in his lap. Watching her work is interesting; she expertly lays cards out again, humming something under her breath, and despite his disinterest in something as paranormal as fortunetelling he can’t help but brace himself as she turns the cards over one by one. He can’t discern what they are, but he knows one’s facing towards him, and that’s the one she stares at the longest, fingertips pressing into it firmly.

“... Are you having a fight with someone?” She asks, and Goro looks up at her; he blinks twice, slowly, before he nods, and follows her gaze back to the spread. “I can see it… Hmm… In my opinion, if the two of you don’t put an effort in to patch things up, this budding friendship may be lost forever. It would be a very…”

Chihaya pauses, glancing at another card, and sets her hands in her lap.

“You’ll regret it. This person and yourself seem to be bound together by fate itself. Not necessarily in a romantic way,” she clarifies when he looks at her suddenly, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly, “but bound. If those strings are cut, you'll regret it.”

“... Thank you for the consultation,” he replies more stiffly than he means to, standing up.

“Please come again,” Chihaya says with a smile, and he returns a tighter version of it before he excuses himself, shoulders hunching against the neon lights of Shinjuku and his feet dragging when he passes Crossroads.

 

* * *

 

A few days after his talk with Chihaya, something unexpected happens. He's in the middle of discussing akebia's meanings (and the price of another bouquet; his last one's wilting already, much to Nozomi's stern looks) when his phone buzzes once, twice, and a whopping _four more times_ in the span of a minute. Goro sighs, waving at the older woman—“Whatever's just fine, Nozomi-san.”—and steps away, removing his glove before he unlocks his phone and frowns at the name.

Ann Takamaki. He hasn't heard from her in a few weeks now, and his first thought is that something's gone wrong with Shiho after all—but his fears are ultimately unfounded.

 **Ann Takamaki:** Hey, are you busy tonight?  
**Ann Takamaki:** If not, we should definitely hang out! I have some friends I want you to meet too.  
**Ann Takamaki:** They're really nice, I promise. Oh, and one of them's interested in learning more about hanahaki disease...?  
**Ann Takamaki:** He thinks it'll help inspire his next piece.  
**Ann Takamaki:** Anyway, RSVP ASAP!!!  
**Ann Takamaki:** Or, you know, whenever you can?

Goro smiles to himself, laying down a few bills with murmuring his thanks to the shop owner as she hands him another bouquet (pinks and yellows and oranges; he'd left it up to her discretion again, and she'd decided to give him a sunrise, of all things). He only gives her half of his attention as she instructs him on how to properly care for them, wincing when she smacks the counter to catch the rest of it.

“I'll be more careful,” he says, stepping back again, and she gives him a hard look before grinning. “Thank you very much, Nozomi-san.”

He makes the trip back to his apartment, changing both the water and his flowers before he rests back on his bed and thinks about his answer for Ann. It's not as if he has anything against the idea of hanging out with her—far from it; she was a friendly individual, from the bits and glimpses he could gather—but... hanging out and meeting her other friends, well. He wonders if there's something there he's not quite catching onto. Some nuance he's missing, because as far as he knows, he and Ann aren't what _he'd_ call friends.

 _Maybe she'd like to be,_ his mind, ever helpful, fills in for him, and Goro hums.

 **Goro Akechi:** ASAP does, in fact, mean whenever I can.  
**Goro Akechi:** I suppose I wouldn't mind meeting with you... and your friends. When and where?  
**Ann Takamaki:** Tonight! There's this great sushi place in Ginza. Wait, I guess tonight's pretty sudden, huh?  
**Goro Akechi:** It's fine, Takamaki-chan.

It's not as if he had any other plans, after all.

 **Ann Takamaki:** Super!! We're meeting at 8, so don't be late!

 

* * *

 

He realizes, standing outside of the sushi shop Ann had given him the directions to, that Akira's one of her friends, too. The thought makes his skin prickle uncomfortably – he could certainly deal with being civil in company if he has to; it's not as if he hasn't had to deal with similarly unpleasant situations before at work. Still—it feels different.

His worry is for naught though; Akira's nowhere to be seen at the crowded table Ann waves at him from, and he adjusts his gloves a bit nervously as he approaches. There's the bleached-hair boy again (Ryuji, he recalls), along with Shiho (who treats him to a small smile), a young girl with bright orange hair, a lithe young man with short, dark hair, and... Sae Niijima's younger sister, he realizes, Makoto.

She's the one who scoots over to give him some room to sit, and he thanks her as he takes a seat, hands in his lap; she's also the one who gets everyone’s attention and introduces everyone once he's made mention that the only people he's already fairly familiar with are Ann and Shiho.

Ryuji Sakamoto, who raises his hand and keeps arguing with Ann over what they should be ordering; Yusuke Kitagawa, the young artist who'd been interested in hearing about hanahaki disease; and Futaba Sakura, a name that rings a few bells. He smiles, bowing his head slightly, and gives another look around before he sits back in his seat, turning his attention to Futaba.

“Sakura-chan—”

“Futaba's fine,” she replies almost immediately, and he hesitates before he nods.

“Futaba-chan, you're Morgana's owner, correct? Kurusu-kun mentioned it once.” Futaba nods, not looking up from her phone—though her fingers still over it after a moment and she jerks her head up, surprise coloring her face. Goro chuckles, waving his hand slightly. “I'm glad I could finally meet you. Leblanc's mascot is adorable and friendly—I can't help but think that's due to whoever raised him.”

“You know Akira?”

“I met him at the flower shop when I was looking into something. He was very helpful.” Goro leans his cheek against his fist, smiling at Futaba. “Well—technically, I met him when I was visiting Suzui-chan for the first time, but we hadn't really talked then. It was only afterwards that we did. To be honest, I quite like our conversations.”

“I didn't know you two started talking,” Ann says, twirling one ponytail between her fingers. “Actually... I'm sort of surprised? Akira's not... Well, he's friendly, but it's not like he goes out of his way to be.” She glances at the others, tilting her head. “Right?”

Ryuji shrugs, though Futaba nods and slumps against the booth's corner, arms crossing over her stomach. “He and I got a long pretty well from the start,” she adds, glasses glinting in the light, “but we sort of had to? He's living in Leblanc's attic after all. I _eat_ there. Sometimes. When I feel like going out to eat. And hanging out with Morgana.”

She pauses to adjust herself, squatting in her seat instead, knees nearly touching the table. “Morgana's technically my cat, I guess, but he's way more Akira's. He's the one who found him, after all, and they always hang out together. Morgana sleeps with me though.”

Goro nods when he's sure she's done and, deciding this is as good a time as any—“Speaking of Kurusu-kun, I would've thought he'd be here as well...?”

“He was busy tonight.” Ann shrugs when she says it, and Goro feels tension drain out of him much too quickly. “He said for us to have fun and save some for him though... Sooooo let's try to, okay?”

“I'm not very hungry anyway,” Shiho replies softly, giggling when Ann gasps at her. “I'll just have some of yours, Ann, and Akira-kun can have my share...?”

Yusuke takes this opportunity to lean behind Makoto and tap him on the shoulder; Goro blinks at him, leaning back as well, and motions for him to speak.

Makoto leans forward and tries not to sigh.

“Please describe to me hanahaki disease and your feelings when you visit a victim of it. Spare no detail.”

“I – uh,” Goro _incredibly intelligently_ replies, trying not to laugh when he sees Yusuke jump with a wince and glare at Futaba; Futaba sticks her tongue out at him and tells him to knock it off, they're gonna eat soon and no one's gonna want to hear about something totally sad and gross over sushi. Makoto presses her head into her hands as their bickering starts again, and Goro thinks it's a very close group.

 _Akira is very lucky,_ he thinks distantly, and doesn't think anything else when an innumerable number of sushi is placed before them. They chat about school and exams between bites, voices raised over stolen pieces and laughter bubbling warm in the air; he learns a lot of things that aren't necessarily important to his current work, like how Yusuke goes to Kosei and is a student (and foster child) of the great Madarame, or how Futaba could skip like, all the way to college if she _really_ wanted to, but she didn't, because it seems kind of pathetic for everyone else to get beaten by a 15-year-old, or how Ryuji used to run track but had an accident (and Goro doesn't miss the way he says that, with gritted teeth and an avoidant glance, and wonders what the story is there), or...

A number of other things, really. When he's not learning more about his new companions, he's commiserating with Makoto over cram school and ribbing her gently over their score difference.

He tries not to laugh when Futaba asks about paying for all the sushi they've eaten and nearly everyone's faces turn into various shades of regret and uncertainty. Only Yusuke remains unbothered, sampling sushi with all the grace of an aristocratic vacuum. (Quickly, but cleanly.)

“Well...” Makoto finally starts, folding her hands on the table in front of her, “a friend said she'd pick up the bill when she arrived, but she's not here yet... I'll text her,” she continues, pulling her bag into her lap and looking through it, and Goro smiles politely.

Haru Okumura, heiress to her family's fortune, joins them with several apologies almost ten minutes later. She'd lost track of time working with a new plant, and then Akira had asked her advice on something, and they went to Rafflesia together to pick up some flowers, and...

“Oh,” she says, finally noticing Goro when he gets the people on his row to scoot down to give her some sitting room, “thank you. You're... Akechi-kun, right? You helped bring to light some controversy about my father's business practices a year ago.”

Goro stares for a beat and nods, suddenly feeling very trapped and very awkward. It'd been more of Sae's case than his, and he'd only snooped for a little bit for her, but... “That's right. I'm very sorry about the fallout from that, Okumura-chan. I hope everything has been going well otherwise...?”

She threads her fingers together and nods, smile kinder than he expects. “My father's loosened restrictions since and seems to be working to something better... I thanked Niijima-san already, but I haven't had the chance to thank you.”

“Oh, I didn't really do anything—”

“Wait, no, dude, are you like...” Ryuji leans forward, shoving Ann out of the way with an elbow; she squawks angrily, looking like she's three seconds from kicking Ryuji, until Shiho pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her temple. “A detective or some shit? Like, for real?”

“Ah... Yes?” He knows he's not particularly well-known, but—“I work part-time with the police... Well, mostly with Sae-san. She, and I quote, values my quick-wit.” A small smile. “I think she just values my shameless habit of poking my nose where it doesn't belong just for a lead. That's another thing I've been told.”

 _Precocious_ was the word when he was younger. _Nuisance_ when he was even younger than that. They sound the same to him.

“I'd like to work with them fully once I'm out of high school...” He waves a hand, chuckling softly. “But I'll have to graduate first. I've considered college as well, but aside from detective work, I'm not really sure what I'd like to pursue.”

“You sound like a frickin' overachiever.” There's no malice or scorn to it though, despite the wording, and Goro shrugs helplessly as Ryuji slumps back. “What made you wanna be one?”

“I think it's more fun if you guess, Sakamoto-kun. Ah,” he glances at the rest of them, crossing his legs at the ankles, “the rest of you can do so as well. No cheating either.”

Futaba stares, then puts down her phone and huffs _it's using my resources_ as she leans away.

Their answers range from 'getting girls' (which is laughable) to 'helping others' (less laughable, but not quite there) to 'exposing corruption'. That one's probably closest to what he currently does, and he shrugs helplessly at it. “My reason's a little more personal, but... Well, I've ended up doing that more than following my personal desires. Good guess, Niijima-chan.”

Makoto's 'thank you' is interrupted by Ryuji's, “No, seriously, _not_ for the girls?!”

“How many girls do you think are actually interested in detectives?” Goro asks airily, and chuckles at Ryuji's rebuked expression. “I'll admit, I'm popular at school, but I'm not sure it has anything to do with my skills as a detective... In fact, it's not really the sort of work that endears you to women. They don't want to know what their lover is up to.” It causes trouble, and if there's anything he's learned, it's that ordinary people don't want trouble unless it's on their side. “If I really wanted to do something to 'get girls,' as you say, I'd... Hm.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully, then turns to Ann when she claps her hands.

“Ooh, I know! You could be a model or something. You've definitely got the looks for it. Actually,” she leans in, pushing aside empty plates with her arms, “if you ever get interested in it, I could definitely get you an in. It's a hobby of mine.”

He can't imagine having _modeling_ as a hobby, but he nods politely and thanks her for her kindness. The night quickly dissolves into more chatter before they depart, and Goro scrolls through his new contacts on the way to the station.

 

* * *

 

The evening of the 21st, he's in the middle of talking to Lala (who has helpfully supplied him with the additional knowledge of Kayo visiting Chihaya _much more_ than he'd initially thought) when his phone buzzes. He expects it to be work-related, or maybe Yusuke asking if they could meet sometime to discuss hanahaki disease, or something like that.

He doesn't expect it to be Akira, and he apologizes to the bar's owner before he steps into one of the more private areas, pulling the curtain closed as he hits the green button and lifts his phone to his ear.

“Kurusu-kun?”

“Wouldn't be anyone else,” comes the smart reply, and Goro rolls his eyes as he takes a seat on the couch. “I wanted to apologize for the other night—”

“It's been a little longer than that.” More like a week and a half. Akira laughs, and the irritation he feels melts away like snow in the summer. Goro rubs his temples and tries to summon back even a smidge of that instead of the relief and warmth he feels instead. “You're forgiven. I... was out of line as well. It's just a matter we'll have to agree to disagree on, I think.”

“It's basically been taken care of anyway,” Akira replies nonchalantly.

Goro's fingers still, and he leans back to stare at the ceiling. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I mean.” There's a hint of smugness there, a hint of a smile, and it's infuriatingly insufferable. Infuriatingly _not an answer,_ and Goro lets the quiet weigh between them. Akira does, too. It's a test to see who'll snap first: either Akira will give and tell him exactly what he means, or Goro will make a cautious stab in the dark as to his meaning.

Goro breaks first, grip tightening on his phone. “You did something to Ohya-san.”

“You make it sound like I did something bad.” A soft huff. “All I did was help her.”

 _How?_ He wants to ask, but Akira answers him before he can: “I told Ohya that it might be like with Ann and Suzui—that her partner was in love with her, but couldn't say it.”

“Ohya-san's a very intelligent woman,” he says, horror creeping up the back of his neck. “She wouldn't believe that without proof.”

“She wouldn't,” Akira agrees, and he hears the creak of a bed; Akira's laid down, apparently, and Goro thinks of the stairs that lead to the space above Leblanc. Nothing about this assuages the tightening of his throat. “I asked a friend before I went to Ohya about it—she confirmed that Ohya's partner came around a lot for love consultations and seemed to take the idea that she'd ruin everything by confessing badly. It wasn't a lie,” he says quicker, more earnestly, and Goro's breath catches on the accusation he'd been about to throw at him and locks it behind his lips. “She really did take it badly.”

It's quiet, time on his wristwatch ticking louder than the muffled conversations outside of the curtains, and Goro slowly exhales.

“How did Ohya-san take it?”

Silence hangs taut like a string between them, before Akira finally replies, “After she confirmed things with our mutual acquaintance, she thanked me.”

“I hope she believed you.” Goro forces his grip on his phone to loosen, voice dropping lower and colder. “If she didn't, not entirely, and that seed doesn't come out of her—when she learns Murakami-san didn't love her at all and she loved someone else, it might kill her. And if Ohya-san has any family who cares, and they find out about your work in this, they might just try and pin murder on you.”

“They couldn't,” Akira replies, but he doesn't sound so sure. Goro laughs loudly, holding his phone high as he splays across the couch, and shakes his head when he pulls it back to his ear. Even if Akira can't see it.

“They'd try.” He stares at the wallpaper, stained with a number of colors; he's pretty sure it's alcohol, but fears some of them might not be. “I don't know how successful they'd be, but they'd try. Something like... You wanted Ohya-san to die for some reason or another, and you found out she had hanahaki disease and that she was in love with Murakami-san. You convinced her Murakami-san loved her, and shortly after, she found out otherwise. She died immediately, and you made off with whatever you could carry. Something like that,” he repeats, voice slipping back to neutral.

He listens to Akira breathe on other side, steady and even, and closes his eyes when he hears his soft voice through the receiver: “I didn't know Murakami didn't love her back.”

So he really _was_ under the impression it was like his friends. Goro feels a little bad, going off on him like that, with that being the case. He murmurs his apology, brow creasing when Akira gives a halfhearted chuckle.

“You're fine. But...” Another pause, and he hears Akira sitting up, fumbling for something—he can't tell what it is, but he seems to find it after a few seconds. “Now it's a catch-22, right? I can't tell Ohya I was mistaken, 'cause...”

“She might react badly, if she really believed you,” Goro finishes for him, and Akira hums. He's almost certain there was a nod there, but there's no way to be sure. “What's done is done then, I suppose.”

The air feels hollower, emptier, and he sighs when he sits up.

“... Please don't worry about it, Kurusu-kun. We're partners,” his lips quirk up as he pretends not to hear Akira drop something that isn't his phone in surprise, “so I wouldn't let you go so easily. You still owe me research, after all. Not to mention your insight.”

“... Right,” Akira manages after a moment, relief evident in his quiet voice, and Goro sets a hand over his heart, exhaling softly. Trouble avoided for now, but he'd have to check in on Ichiko...

He hears her order a drink from the front and looks up, startled. Speak of the Devil—

“I'll call you back,” he says and hangs up before Akira can say anything else; he pulls the curtains back and steps out, stopping to size Ichiko up. She looks fine, if tired, and nursing her usual, so Goro takes a seat beside her and offers her a smile.

The only reason he knows he doesn't look as nervous as he feels is because he's learned how to disguise it.

“Ohya-san. I was hoping I'd be able to talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She sips her drink, and he gets the feeling he should've waited until she was a little less sober to announce his presence. Good at acting or not, Ichiko Ohya _is_ a reporter, and her eyes seem sharper than most people's. “Well, go ahead. I'm listening, Goro-chan.”

Goro takes a deep breath, steels himself for whatever might come, and tents his fingers on the bar in front of him.

 

* * *

 

 **Goro Akechi:** Kurusu-kun? I know it's late, so I hope I'm not interrupting your sleep... Regardless, I wanted to let you know about Ohya-san.  
**Goro Akechi:** She says you're a good kid  
**Goro Akechi:** but she wouldn't believe you about things regarding love because, and I quote, “He has no experience with that kind of thing.”  
**Goro Akechi:** It seems you've been spared.  
**Goro Akechi:** I hope you slept well.

 

 

 

 **Akira Kurusu:** I slept like a baby. Thanks for the well-wishes though, and the heads up.  
**Akira Kurusu:** Anyway...  
**Akira Kurusu:** Want to get lunch sometime? My treat.  
**Goro Akechi:** Well... If you're paying, then certainly. I'll let you know when I'm free.  
**Akira Kurusu:** Great. I'm looking forward to it, Akechi.  
**Goro Akechi:** I as well, Kurusu-kun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tsuruhananasu - jasmine nightshade (also known as potato climber/vine), symbolizing loneliness, truth, and "smile".**
> 
> loneliness is the meaning i went with for this fic, obviously! kayo's akebia (akebi in its native japanese) symbolizes "talent" and "only love", the latter which applies to her.
> 
> now: as for next week, there won't be an update! the next update will actually be **july 13th**. i'll be spending the rest of this week and the next building my buffer back up, since it ran out last week and i had to scramble to finish and edit this chapter in a couple of days. 
> 
> as always, thank you for your support (there are a little over 100 of you subscribed to this fic now, and that makes me super happy!) and your kind comments, kudos, etc! i appreciate it a lot, and i hope you're all looking forward to two weeks from now, when sakuraso returns with a breather chapter.


	8. [swallow]

The uniforms switch from winter to summer by the time they meet in the underground mall at Shibuya; it's a welcome change, even if his hands feel a little naked without his gloves, just as they always do in the beginning. Akira glances at the attaché-case in his hands, eyebrows raised, and Goro smiles weakly.

“I don't plan on doing any casework while we're out, Kurusu-kun. I promise.”

Goro thinks he probably doesn't sound half as convincing as he needs to, given Akira's glance—though a moment later he's smiling in that small way he has, motioning them along. They head out of the station and make a game of trying to stick to the shadows, only stopping when they reach a diner's air-conditioned inside. Goro sighs, pushing his bangs away from his forehead, and scrunches his nose slightly when he feels a thin layer of sweat clinging to his skin.

Akira points out he wouldn't be sweating at all if he hadn't decided to go with the sweater-vest and long-sleeves combo, and Goro huffs a laugh; he agrees with him privately, that it would've been smarter to just throw on an undershirt and maybe something over it, or maybe just wear a t-shirt, but there's a distinct lack-of comfortable clothing in his closet. Even if he'd wanted to, he wouldn't be able to.

He settles for waving his hand dismissively and telling him he's fine with whatever he recommends.

Fifteen minutes later, they have two plates of nostalgia steak, a basket of fries to share, and two different kinds of frui-teas. Goro's fairly certain his is apple, but it tastes like there's something else just beneath it, and he spends the better part of two minutes half-listening to Akira talk while he sorts it out. He realizes long after the fact that he's gone quiet though, and Goro refocuses his attention, smiling as easily as he has to for his peers.

“I let my thoughts get away from me, sorry. What were we...?”

Akira's mouth opens to say something, but he shakes his head and presses his fist to his lips when they close instead, grinning against it. Somehow, that's worse than whatever he'd wanted to comment on, and he laughs when Goro flicks a fry at him.

“I know mixing business and pleasure is a bad idea, and you said you wouldn't do casework, but—” Akira lets a fry hang out of his mouth as he slips his phone out of his pocket, clicking through something on it; Goro leans forward to try and see, but Akira just pulls his phone away and tuts. “Patience, Akechi, let me find it first.”

“I assume it's about what I asked you about before?” He asks, sipping his drink (maybe raspberry?), and rests his cheek in his palm, elbow propped on the table, as Akira nods. “That's wonderful news. I'm certainly glad you insisted on helping out, Kurusu-kun. I'm sure it would've been a while before I could manage to get around to it.”

The praise makes Akira's thumb fly faster over his phone, the tips of his ears turning red, and Goro smiles wider. Cute, yes, he could certainly see where Ichiko had come up with that—not that it's a thought that's foreign to him, not really, but... It's different, like this, with more than a few chance meetings between them and a warmth he can't explain expanding in his chest. He bites his straw when Akira glances up at him through his bangs and holds up his phone, and he takes it from him with two fingers to read the page.

 _Retribution lily (lilium_ _retributionem) is a species of lily native to northern and central Japan, though it is frequently argued to have come from trade with China during the Muromachi Period, under the reign of Yoshimitsu Ashikaga._

_They grow mostly in rural areas and die out as they come into contact with urbanization._

_This article is a st_

He doesn't need to read further than that, and he slides Akira's phone back to him, frowning. It's more than he had before, but it's still... frustrating, not to have more. He flinches in surprise when he feels a hand over his, fingers far too calloused to just be from schoolwork, and he lifts his gaze up. Akira smiles at him, crooked and tiny, and pats the back of his hand gently.

“I'll ask Nozomi-san more,” he says softly, and Goro presses his lips together and nods after a moment. “Just leave this part to me, okay?”

“I already said I would.” He knows he sounds petulant, and Akira's snort doesn't help stop the warmth unfurling in his chest. “Are you certain these are what are responsible for hanahaki disease?”

“They're the most common denominator.” Akira shrugs and leans forward, mimicking his usual pose: fist pressed into his cheek, elbow propped on the table. “They might not be, but... they've got a pretty good chance? I looked into a couple of other leads besides this too, but retribution lilies seemed the most likely. Besides, their name sort of hints it, doesn't it?”

Goro stares, brows furrowing, and Akira dips his head slightly. “Divine retribution, Akechi?”

 _Ah._ Their conversation before. He nods slowly after a pregnant pause, curling his fingers into his palm. Yes, there's no doubt that Akira's right on those points, and it's as good a lead as any for the moment. He smiles slightly and dips his head too, heart pitter-pattering when he sees mirth light up in Akira's storm-colored eyes.

“Thank you for the help, Kurusu-kun. How could I ever repay you?”

“You asked,” he replies, shaking his head with his eyes closed—though they're open when he looks at him again, lidded in a way that sends his heart racing further. “I'll take going out with you again if you're gonna insist on it though.”

“My treat next time, right?” Akira nods to the question and Goro sighs, leaning back and running his free hand through his bangs. It makes him realize his other is still caged between Akira's and the table, and the fact he doesn't mind it (just like he hadn't minded the thought of being pulled closer to close the distance on his couch) is bad on all fronts, especially the one where he's investigating _unrequited love that can kill you._ He tries to ignore the way his stomach flutters and sinks as he draws his hands back together to clap together, smiling wide. “Very well. We can talk about that some other time though—we should get through today first, shouldn't we?”

Akira huffs slightly, propping his chin on the back of his hand. “It doesn't matter how today goes, Akechi. There's a no take-backs rule on treating.”

Goro chuckles and shakes his head, and the conversation lulls as they get to finishing their meal. They brush elbows and hands on the way out, and even more than that on the train; at one point. Akira braces himself against the door and stares at Goro, who swallows hard at the closeness and accepts his apology with a smile. _Even cliché situations such as this do happen once in a while,_ he thinks, and pretends he's watching for their stop above Akira's shoulder and not watching the pink stain of his cheeks stay in his peripheral.

They talk about school (midterms were terrible, and Akira's not looking forward to his finals; Goro can't say he is either, what with his attention being dragged off in an entirely different direction), about their mutual acquaintances ( _friends,_ Akira corrects him, and Goro smiles politely and continues his questioning), and by the time they're discussing which horror game is the objective best, they've reached his apartment. Goro works on finding his key as Akira looks like he's working on something internally, and when Goro looks up, Akira's close.

Closer than he'd been on the train, and there's a second where his heart stops before it hammers against his chest, threatening to bruise his lungs when Akira leans in, pressing him back against the door. Seconds pass, with Akira's hand finding its way up to his hair, gently playing with the ends of it, and Goro's hands remaining at his side, the familiar edges of his apartment key making new lines in his palm.

Eventually, Akira pulls back, looking considerably more his age with a embarrassed flush on his face and uncertainty behind his glasses.

Goro feels his age, too.

He also feels a rush of panic, because he was _just thinking_ about how this is something he can't have—he isn't even sure, really, how he feels about this, or Akira, or anything, and before he even has the chance to find his voice, Akira's stepping away, rubbing the back of his neck with a cough.

“I remembered you're supposed to kiss your date when you walk them home,” he says, not sounding particularly convincing, but Goro nods and pretends he is, his smile feeling awkward on his lips.

“I think you're supposed to ask first.” Would he have said yes? Did he want one? Goro ducks his gaze away, as if he's going to find the answers at his feet, and clears his throat. “Thank you for the day out. I'll let you know when I'm free again.”

Akira looks like he's about to say something, but he closes his mouth and nods, shuffling back another few steps until his back hits the railing. “You're welcome. I'll keep my schedule open.”

Goro cants his head a little with a smile and turns away, finally letting his expression give way to tight lips and wide eyes as he steps into his apartment and shuts the door behind him. He waits by it, listening to Akira shuffle in place before he leaves, and slides down to the floor with a laugh.

One thing at a time, he supposes, and folds his arms over his knees when he brings them to his chest to pillow his head.

 

* * *

 

It's not actually his fault that they don't get to meet up until July—really, even meeting up then is a stretch to accommodate, but Goro looks at the cheesy birthday invite he's gotten and feels his heart twist. He keeps it at his desk while he works and goes to find Ryuji a present after he's gotten through a fair bit of his casework. Leblanc is the only thing on his mind the next day, and he holds the wrapped gift in his hand awkwardly as he steps in the door and thinks about the chime. Sojiro glances at him, then looks up the stairs.

“Another of your friends is here! Get down here before I turn 'em away.”

There's laughter from upstairs, and the person who thumps down the stairs is Ann; she motions him up, eyeing the gift, and he follows her one step at a time. Morgana greets him immediately with a loud meow and pushing his head into his his hand when he holds it out, and Goro distracts himself for a few precious seconds to pet the cat—anything, really, to keep from having to regard his company (certain company) for another moment or two.

It can't last long, though, and he sweeps his gaze across them, far too aware that he lingers on Akira a second longer and far too aware of the unfamiliar twinge in his chest when Akira doesn't meet his gaze for long; he settles it on Ryuji though, holding up his gift as he does so.

“I heard it was your birthday..?” Ah, er, there's still silence— “Takamaki-chan invited me. I hope that was alright?”

“Dude, _yeah_ it's alright! Stupid to turn down an extra present too,” he adds, grinning when Goro chuckles and hands it over. “Akira, you got an extra chair or somethin'?”

Akira stares at him a moment, then looks around the room and shrugs. Goro shakes his head, opening his mouth to say that he doesn't mind standing, and feels tiny hands shove him forward to the bed; he stumbles, catching himself on Akira's shoulder, and quickly moves to the side.

Futaba shrugs when he looks over at her and says, “There's room on the bed, right? Me and dumb fox-face can share the couch.”

Yusuke frowns at her and almost says something before she's slapping a hand over his mouth, leaning in to whisper in his ear. Goro takes a seat beside Akira on the bed, careful to place some distance between them, and watches his hand; it feels like there's firecrackers beneath his skin, and he wonders if it's the same for Akira. He doesn't know if he'd like to hope for it, or if he'd like to hope it's not.

His attention's pulled back to the rest of the group, chattering loudly about this and that at school—Makoto reprimanding a few of them for not studying, with Haru laughing gently behind her hand and looking like she's torn between trying to soften Makoto up or just letting her be; Futaba and Yusuke's new squabble over something he can't hear, but feels vaguely embarrassed about when he realizes Yusuke keeps glancing at him and Futaba has to pull his face back towards her with a scowl. Akira is silent beside him though, hand mechanically petting Morgana when the cat makes himself comfortable on his lap, and Goro folds his hands in his lap.

Ann's loud cheer of _Shiho!_ rings out from the hustle and bustle, and Makoto sighs as her scolding comes to a halt; Shiho giggles when Ann grabs her around the waist and pecks her lips once, and she spends another moment trying to figure out where her girlfriend fits.

Not that it matters much; Shiho ends up taking a seat beside him, the bed feeling a little crowded with three people (two of which are trying to keep distance between them), but they manage. Shiho smiles at him, less shy than before, and Goro thanks the stars above for a conversation partner. It's easy to forget weeks of radio silence with Shiho bridging the gap between them, and he catches Akira watching him, lips parted; his breath catches with his laugh, and it turns into coughing instead—Ryuji howls at that, though Shiho's kind enough to pat his back until his fit stops.

Akira's not looking at him when he glances again, but there's a grin barely hidden by his wrist, and Goro huffs in mock-irritation.

The party winds down as the hours turn dark, and Shiho hesitates before she shakes her head and wishes him a good night. Goro nods, watching her and Ann leave, and becomes aware of the fact he's the only one left in Leblanc. Well, not quite—Sojiro is there, as well as Tae, and Akira's making light conversation with the latter... but of their group, he's the last one left. His skin prickles with questions, and he steps towards the door before he turns, words rushing out on his breath: “Kurusu-kun, could we talk?”

He's obviously caught him off-guard; Akira's expression doesn't school itself into muted curiosity fast enough, and Goro's heart beats between his ears as he nods and steps outside. Akira follows after a few minutes, stepping out of the way of the door. In the corner of his eye, he can see him run his tongue over his lips, and he turns his gaze upwards.

God's not really something he's ever believed in, but...

“I think it'd be best if we didn't entangle ourselves in anything while we're working together,” he breathes, stomach growing heavier with every word. He focuses on moonlit clouds passing across the sky and not on Akira or the way he feels like he's sinking. He doesn't want to think about it; he doesn't want to acknowledge it, most of all, because there's too many variables there, and chief among them is— “I just think,” Goro bites out again quickly, stalling his thoughts in their place, “that we should be cautious. Ohya-san and Murakami-san were working together when they were infected with hanahaki disease, and I don't want us to be next.”

The night is still between them, the day's leftover warmth a suffocating blanket, and Akira's breath stutters out in quiet, strained laughter. Goro's not entirely sure what to make of it, but when he looks over, Akira's face is turned away from him.

“... That makes sense,” Akira replies, shrugging slightly. “Sorry about before then.”

“It's fine, just... It's something to keep it in mind. I couldn't live with myself if I caused someone to die.” A beat, and he chuckles, catching Akira's gaze when he looks over. “That sounds rather self-centered, doesn't it?”

“A little, but I think it's understandable.” Akira breathes in deep and Goro watches him, half his body shadowed by the awning above; his eyes are nearly black in the darkness, eyelids fluttering when he yawns (the fakest yawn he's ever heard, frankly), and Goro catches his wrist when he turns.

The skin-on-skin contact makes his fingers itch.

“I don't have anything to do after finals, so if you'd like to see a movie or something, we can do that.” A beat, and Goro tries to smile in a way he hopes is charming. He feels like it isn't anything at all. “I did say I'd treat you, after all, and I'm a man of my word.”

He lets Akira go when he gets an answer (affirmative, which makes his heart trip over itself in a way he refuses to put a name to) and rubs his tingling fingers against his palm as he watches Akira duck back into Leblanc.

 

* * *

 

“I'm sorry to bother you, Akechi-kun, but... I didn't want to ruin the mood earlier.” Shiho draws a shaky, uncertain breath on the other end of the phone. “It's about the girl who sits in front of me, Fujioka-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a very hard time deciding what to do for my overarching mystery, but decided that a fictional flower would likely be best, ahahaha. i think i got the latin right, as far as species name goes, but i'm definitely no biologist. (my strength is in chemistry actually, up to a point.)
> 
> in preparation for some upcoming things, i'll be switching to **updating every other thursday** ; this means the next chapter will be on july 27th! i'll have a little more information for you all then as well.
> 
> anyways, as always, thank you for reading and for all the support!


	9. anemone I

If he remembers right, Akemi Fujioka is a short girl, even by Japanese standards, with an even shorter temper. Goro presses his fingers to his temple with his right as he draws lazily loop-de-loops with the pencil in his left, graphite making light lines on the paper. Shiho thought the girl might be coming down with hanahaki—she recalled that Akemi had been the unlucky recipient of her flowers, and recently, she'd been looking rather sick. What'd made her want to contact him though wasn't just that.

It was the petals she'd found beneath her desk; different colors, but all the same shape: a sort of pointed oval, thinning closer to one edge. Goro closes his eyes, trying to imagine them.

All he thinks about is Shiho's voice, trying to stay steady but shaking all the same. It's not as if Akemi had even been particularly nice about her when they'd spoken, or even seemed to be her friend—as he recalled, the girl'd been downright dismissive of Shiho—so he can't understand why she'd be so torn up about this. Maybe Shiho's just nice like that; maybe she feels guilty over her flowers months ago being the cause.

That one, somehow, makes the most sense to him, and he wryly considers what sort of person that makes him if he can't even believe in someone being nice for the sake of being nice. He also considers what sort of person he is with his first reaction to having to investigate Akemi at Shiho's request is dread, mixed with the relief of the excuse of finals looming on their doorstep to put off doing so immediately.

He decides to not think about it too hard.

The days pass quicker with study and tests, and he watches Akira wash coffee mugs and plates; his eyes are down-turned, lips parted as he goes through the motions. Goro traces the rim of his mug idly, thinks about asking if he'd like to attend the upcoming fireworks festivals, and ends up smiling politely and declining the same invitation when Akira extends it to him, his hand out for the empty mug.

“I was asked to look into a hanahaki case,” he explains, pressing the still-warm ceramic into Akira's palm. “I'd like to do so as soon as possible after school, and I'm not entirely sure how long it'll take... I've met the girl supposedly inflicted with it, and she's rather difficult.” He pauses, watching Akira through his bangs, and sighs. “Truthfully, I'm not certain when I became known for helping people deal with these sort of things...”

Akira smiles in a way he can't tell if it's an honest smile or if he's just trying not to smirk and turns, retreating to the back to finish washing.

 

* * *

 

According to Shiho, Akemi didn't show up for class, and neither of them know where she lives; she promises to let him know when she finds out, and Goro watches the fireworks from his apartment balcony with the dial tone in his ear. He slinks back inside when the sky opens up and rain starts to pour, and it feels like an omen.

He doesn't know if it's a good one or a bad one.

It's three days into summer break by the time he can meet with Akemi—that is, that Shiho can get her address from asking around (evidently her friends aren't so much her _friends_ as they are _people who find it better to be on her good side than anywhere else_ ), and he can finally catch her coming out of her house. She gives him a dirty look, lips set in a hard line, and jerks her chin up at him defiantly when he smiles at her and waves.

“The fuck do you want,” she asks without really _sounding_ like she's asking anything, but she looks like she's expecting an answer. A darker part of him tempts him to tell her he'd just been passing by and leaving her to deal with any potential hanahaki repercussions on her own, but his better half wins out, and he lets the smile slip away.

It'd felt out of place, anyway.

“Suzui-chan asked me to look into your condition. She thinks you have hanahaki disease,” and Akemi's expression flits from annoyed to surprised, then back to annoyed in the span of fifteen seconds, and Goro continues, “and wanted me to check it out.”

“Even if I _did_ have it, which I fucking don't, the fuck does she think you're gonna do, huh?”

“Help you the way I did her, I suppose.” A problem of his own making—not that he'd helped Ichiko and Kayo, really. He'd done what he'd wanted, which was find out more about the disease. “All I did was tell her to confess to Takamaki-chan though, and she ended up incidentally doing that when she was telling me about why she couldn't possibly do so.”

Akemi hums in blatant disinterest, tells him to mind his own (fucking) business, and goes straight back inside her house.

 

* * *

 

Akemi isn't a problem he can solve. Akira tells him as much, arm curled around a bucket of popcorn and his bag over his shoulder as they step out of the nice, air-conditioned theater and onto the hot city streets. Goro sighs, tugging at his sleeves, and nods. He knows, he knows—he's told Ann and Shiho the same thing, but they're not inclined to listen.

“It's not as if I'd like to stand back and watch her suffer either, if she has it.” He buys a popsicle at a convenience store, given that _someone's_ hogging the popcorn, and nearly immediately starts licking errant drips away as the sun threatens their cool existence. He catches the look Akira gives him anyway, his eyebrow raised, and he frowns. “I didn't want to do that with Murakami-san and Ohya-san either—I just thought the pros outweighed the cons in the long-run. I still hold that it's better to find a solution to all of this permanently rather than keeping band-aids over it, Kurusu-kun.”

Akira shrugs halfheartedly, and Goro tilts his head at him for a moment before he goes back to keeping his hand from becoming a sticky mess, sighing through his nose. “I just—”

“In my opinion,” Akira cuts him off, knocking their shoulders together gently, “we've been talking about this in circles, and you've been thinking about it in circles. Why not focus on something else for a bit? Fujioka's crush is probably at school, and since we're on summer break, she'll probably be fine for a while. You can tell her to visit Takemi for some medicine after you've both chilled out too.”

Goro shoots some of his popsicle now at his feet an upset look, but nods; it's probably better to focus elsewhere and return with a fresher mind, if he has to. Perhaps even over summer break it'd solve itself—Akemi would either get over it, or she'd confess and have a nice life. (Or she'd confess and die, and he licks a long, wet stripe up his popsicle with a frown.)

“I think I'll take advantage of my break from schoolwork to look into retribution lilies then.” He pauses, glancing at Akira—whose cheeks are red from the heat, undoubtedly, given his curly mop of dark hair—and smiles. “Would you like to investigate with me? We're partners, after all.”

Akira declines, citing summer homework, and their chat returns to normal things—what he thinks of as normal things, like their mutual friends and the weather, favorite places to go in the summer and places they'd like to go. An intense argument over the best kind of ice cream. It's easy, like things hadn't been awkward between them for a time, and Goro's heart eases itself into a steady, unworried rhythm.

 

* * *

 

Initially, he travels to a moderately-sized town in the countryside—when he tells Akira, he gets told that's about an hour and a half from _his_ hometown—for his investigation. The people there are nice and generally on the older side of things, which means he spends more time listening to stories that don't end and seem to wander from topic to topic. He doesn't mind it as much as he thinks he should. It feels sort of like having grandparents, and he pays chess with a pair of old men in the park as they recount everything from how the town's grown in their life to how they met one warm spring day.

Romance makes his stomach tighten strangely, and he asks them, again, about retribution lilies. They both pause, tilting looks at each other, and lean in at the same time.

“Mari grows 'em on the south side of town,” the one with ruddy, sunburned cheeks replies. Goro glances again at his sunhat, thinking that the wide brim's done nothing to help the poor old man.

“Mari,” Goro repeats, glancing down to jot it in his notebook. “Last name..?”

“Fujioka,” the other replies, leaning back and crossing his spindly arms in front of him. Goro's pen stills and he glances up at the two men, lips parted. Fujioka, like Akemi Fujioka— “She's been here somewhere about... Five years, right?” He glances over, tilting his head at his partner. “Five years, Ryo?”

“Five years, jus' about,” the other man agrees, red cheeks spreading when he grins. “She's a good girl. You wanna meet her? Prob'ly a little too old for you, but she's always liked younger guys.”

Goro smiles politely.

Half an hour later, he's in front of a house that boasts itself a farm—it doesn't really look like much of one, despite the garden of vegetables growing in front of the two-story building and twisting around the side. Presumably the back area has it as well... there's no signs of any flowers though, and he double checks the address he was given before he makes his way up the worn stone driveway and off to the side, following a winding path made of wooden planks almost hidden by trellis archways decorated with grape vines. He rings the doorbell, hands tightly curled around his attaché-case, and bows his head when an older woman answers not long after.

“My name is Akechi, and I'm studying retribution lilies. I heard you're cultivating them?” He asks, raising his head, and watches the woman's face scrunch thoughtfully before she nods, leaning against her doorway. He smiles brightly, the way he knows adults like to see, and raises a hand. “I'd like to see them for myself, if possible, and talk with you about them—”

“Not possible,” she replies, crossing her arms. “Last truck of them left yesterday.”

Goro stares for a moment, mouth slightly open, before he recovers and clears his throat, eyebrows drawing together; he follows her in when she agrees they can talk about them though, and takes a seat when she offers it. He takes lemonade when it's offered too, sipping quietly (too tart), and waits for her to resettle herself.

“My partner and I have been looking into a recent resurgence of hanahaki disease among Tokyo's younger generations,” he begins, setting his drink down. “Well... We've mostly been looking into the disease period, since not much is known about its origins. We managed to find a common denominator in the areas that were commonly affected by hanahaki in the past—that is, where it first began—and I'm afraid to say that that denominator is...”

“My retribution lilies,” Mari finishes, slouched back in her seat, and Goro nods. He laces his fingers over his knee, smiling apologetically, and she rubs her chin thoughtfully before shrugging. “Where's your proof?”

“Like I said, the common denominator—”

“Do you have definitive proof,” she says slowly, gradually leaning forward on her elbows, “that these lilies are the cause of it? How would they spread it? Lilies don't have pollen—they're hypoallergenic.”

Goro's breath catches in his throat; when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, and he slowly closes it, lips pressed tightly together. Mari nods at him, dismissive in her gesture, and he feels a flicker of annoyance and frustration spark in his gut. No, he doesn't have anything definitive aside from statistics, which could just be coincidental. How the disease would spread—he doesn't have an idea for that, either. He and Akira had theorized it was the pollen from flowers, but if the possible root of it was pollen-free...

“It might spread from the plants themselves,” he replies, trying not to sound as uncertain as he feels. “There _are_ a number of plants who cause irritation and such even from just brushing against skin. The idea that it could be communicable from that isn't so far-fetched, especially since it's spread through contact with petals expelled from the infected. That could be the pollen,” Goro continues softer, gaze darting away as if to acquiesce the argument, “but I think it's just as likely that touching a retribution lily could cause it as well.”

The words hang in the air until Mari takes a breath, apparently intent on arguing the point, and Goro raises his hand, shoulders slumping. “Please, Fujioka-san, I'm a detective, not a doctor. I really don't have any solid ideas on the specifics of this sort of thing... If you'd like to talk to one, I can give you a number before I leave.”

“I just don't want to be the cause of Akki's condition,” she mutters after a moment, turning to watch out the window. Goro frowns at her, tilting his head questioningly, and Mari glances at him from the side of her eye before she stands and crosses the room; she picks up a framed photograph and sets it on the table between them when she returns.

He glances at her, waiting until she gives him an impatient wave to delicately pick it up; there's Mari, of course, with her arms around two other women. One of them seems to be older than her, but there's nothing familial about the way they hug each other close. The third is much younger, with pigtails and a dirty yellow sundress, and it takes him a moment to realize he's looking at Akemi. She can't be much older than twelve, arms wrapped around a bushel of blindingly white lilies.

“Akki is... Akemi, right?” He ventures after a moment, lifting his gaze; she nods, and he sets the picture down carefully. “I was asked by a... person who'd like to be friends with her to help her, actually.” Goro leans back in his seat, fingers twisting together idly, before he continues.

“Shiho Suzui sits behind Fujioka-chan—she's a very kind young woman, but thinks she might've been the one who caused her condition, since Suzui-chan had contracted hanahaki disease before and had had a bout of it during class, which got in Fujioka-chan's hair. Unfortunately, I haven't had much luck in helping Fujioka-chan.” He smiles wryly, raising his hands slightly. “She doesn't want my help—she says she doesn't need it, and she won't even tell me if she _has_ hanahaki disease... though going by your words, I assume she does.”

Mari nods, hands tightening in her lap, and he exhales softly.

“The Takemi-san I mentioned is a doctor who can help ease her fits. It won't get rid of the disease completely, but she'll be less at-risk of dying from it.” Goro slips his notebook out of his pocket and writes out Tae's information, tearing it out and laying it next to the photo. “I can promise she's a very good one as well. She's been helping another young woman infected with hanahaki for a while now.”

The older Fujioka takes it without speaking, lips pressed together, and Goro waits for the moment to pass a little more before he asks her follow-up questions to something easier to stomach—comparatively easier, at least. Where the shipments were heading (mostly around the area, with a few to major cities—like Tokyo, which makes his phone weigh heavy in his pocket as he thinks about asking if Rafflesia has any), if she'd stay her orders until things eased up (not possible, unfortunately; she _does_ have a business to run, and retribution lilies are growing popular due to their looks), and a request to send him some the next time they bloom.

She gives him a look for that, a crease in her forehead, and his smile wanes.

“I'd like to pass it along to someone who could be more certain about its possible connection to hanahaki disease, that's all.”

“You're not allowed to blame me if you catch anything then,” Mari replies, turning Tae's number over and pushing the pencil and paper back to him. “But fine. Only time this'll be free of charge, too.”

He pushes it back once he's through writing and thanks her for her time and hospitality, giving her a small bow before he shows himself out.

 

* * *

 

The first place he goes to when he returns to Tokyo is Leblanc; he's lucky enough to find Haru there, and he waves off Sojiro's raised eyebrows and jerk towards the upstairs. Akira isn't who he needs right now, as nice as it might be to talk to him and let him know how things went and ask about Rafflesia's recent flower orders—he can do that later. Haru smiles when he takes a seat beside her, her hands delicately curled around a cup of coffee, and she takes a sip of her drink as he orders his own.

“Okumura-chan,” he begins, pulling his saucer closer when Sojiro sets it down, “you garden, correct?”

“I do. I've been cultivating coffee beans lately, but I have experience with all sorts of plants.” She sound suitably proud of it, too—it's a hobby she obviously loves. Goro smiles pleasantly and nods, tenting his fingers over his cup.

“Then there's no better person to ask.”

Haru answers his queries cheerfully—lilies spread via bulbs, and there are actually quite a few animals that eat those, along with other parts of the flower. Squirrels, rabbits, deer, chipmunks, slugs... “Are you thinking of growing some, Akechi-kun?”

“I'm certain they'd die if I tried,” he replies, shaking his head. “No, it's nothing like that—Kurusu-kun and I found a flower that could possibly be our mark for hanahaki disease, and it's a type of lily, so I wanted to know more about them. Thank you for the information, Okumura-chan—you've been very helpful.”

“I'm glad that I could be...” She folds her hands in front of her, a crease forming between her brow as she stares at him. The look is strangely piercing, and he can't hold it for long; he busies himself with studying his dwindling coffee instead, giving a hum of acknowledgement when she clears her throat.

Haru starts to say something, stops, and asks that he please be careful. He agrees without knowing why, missing the way her gaze flicks upstairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little late! (it's still on time day-wise, ahaha...)
> 
> anyway! as always, thank you for all the support! it means a lot to me. moving along... from august 6th to the 20th, i'll be on vacation with a couple of friends of mine! we'll be doing a lot and having a lot of fun, i'm actually quite excited about it—i've also been lucky enough to land a spot on a shuake zine (i know!) so i'm going to be working on something for that as well. as a result, i'm terrible and i don't have an official date for when the next chapter's going to go up.
> 
> i'd like to update at least once during my vacation though (i'd feel way too bad making you guys wait a month), so this is just a heads up that it'll probably be a little late.
> 
> anyway, i hope you all have a good day, and thank you for everything once again!
> 
>  **edit (8/18):** the next chapter will be going up **august 24th!** i hope everyone's excited. we should be back on a normal schedule after this c:


	10. anemone II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for some vomiting, though it's nothing too detailed and is basically just coughing up a lot of flowers; better to be safe than sorry!

He waits a few days to visit the Takemi Medical Center. There are a few others there—mostly old people and people with young children. They look worried, hands wringing over soft chatter and questions of what might be wrong, and Goro feels his heart prickle uncomfortably.

Tae steps out of her office with a sigh, the next name on her lips, but she pauses when she sees him. He smiles slightly at her, canting his head, and nods when she tells him he'll have to wait his turn. He takes up a spot on the wall to do so, skimming news on his phone to keep himself from concentrating too hard on the conversations resuming in the clinical quiet. The door beside him opens a few times—people going out, and Akira coming in—

their eyes meet, and Goro recognizes a flicker of surprise in the steely grey before Akira glances away. Goro scoots to give him some room on the wall, returning his attention to his phone, and scrolls without reading a single thing on it.

“What're you in for?” Akira finally whispers, voice close to his ear; Goro chuckles, tilting his head—they're close enough it comes to rest against Akira's, and it feels intimate, but there's no better way to keep their conversation to themselves. He tries to tell himself it's that and not anything else.

“I wanted to follow up on something with Takemi-san... I happened to meet Fujioka-chan's older sister while I was out of town, and I advised her to send Fujioka-chan to her if she could.” He doesn't miss the way Akira's lips quirk up victoriously, and he nudges his side with his elbow in retaliation. “I did say I wouldn't like to stand back and watch her suffer, you know.”

“Maybe this is why people think you're the guy to go to if they want help,” Akira shoots back, and Goro acquiesces with a laugh. Tae steps out, glancing at Akira—her eyebrows rise, but she motions with her clipboard for Goro to come in. Goro smiles slightly, nudging Akira again.

“Wait for me? I'd like to talk to you about something else.”

Akira shrugs lightly—“Isn't that what I should be asking you?”—and Goro steps into Tae's office.

The question of _why_ Akira's here clicks the same time her door does behind him, and he sets the thought aside. He can ask that when he's asking about Rafflesia; it's perfectly fine. It's likely he's here to follow up about Ichiko, or ask about Kayo, or... several different things relating to hanahaki disease that _doesn't_ relate to...

“Kid,” Tae says loudly, or maybe _louder_ is the right word, given he's certain she probably called him before. Goro smooths his worry over with a smile, clasping his hands behind his back tightly, and apologizes for his wandering thoughts. Tae shrugs slightly and motions to the bed beside her, and he takes a seat, hands resting in his lap.

“So,” she begins again, now that she _properly_ has his attention, “what'd you come for?”

“Has a girl named Fujioka come by here yet? Akemi Fujioka.”

“That's confidential.” Tae's eyes drift to a file wedged between a few others though, and Goro surmises it's Akemi's. It has to be, between her words and her gaze, and he catches it again when he glances at her. “Anything else you wanna know?”

“Have you heard of retribution lilies?” When she shakes her head, he leans forward on his knees and tells her what he'd learned chasing them. She presses a finger to her lips as he finishes, nodding slowly, and props her chin in her hand on the desk. Goro fidgets under her stare for a moment before he adds, “I was thinking of bringing some to you? They might be able to help you with your medicine, if they're truly the cause of hanahaki...”

“That'd be great,” she replies, but she seems like she's expecting something else—he shakes his head, hands raising, and laughs gently.

“It's out of the goodness of my heart... and my desire to see this mystery solved. It's not as if anyone else is doing anything.”

He smiles, but it wanes when she shakes her head and shoos him out.

 

* * *

 

It's nearly eight by the time Akira joins him outside; Goro glances up, tugging at his collar to let his skin breathe a little easier (again), and smiles at him. The diminishing sunlight and lengthened shadows of the buildings give them some semblance of cooling down, but the air is still oddly heavy with humidity. It makes him think it might rain soon, and Akira gives a small shrug when he remarks so.

“What'd you want to talk about?” He asks after a moment, head tilted back to watch clouds roll across the colorful sky. Goro stands and laces his fingers together, thumbs pressing against each other.

“I wanted to ask if Nozomi-san had recently ordered any retribution lilies. If they're not under that name, they're very... white. Unfortunately, that's all I could discern from the photograph that had them in them.”

Akira hums thoughtfully, reaching up to twirl his fringe. He shakes his head after a bit, glancing at him, and Goro sighs softly. The only thing he'd noticed coming in recently that fit that description were ordinary white lilies—he was sure (and Goro agreed, honestly) that retribution lilies must have _something_ different about them, just so they wouldn't get mixed up with other flowers.

“I asked Fujioka-san for some when they next bloom for Takemi-san to study, so I'll send you a picture.” He doesn't miss Akira's alarmed look, nor the way he opens his mouth only to shut it; Goro has a feeling he knows what it's about anyway and waves his hand dismissively. “I don't have an unrequited love nor do I plan on having one, Kurusu-kun. I'm not at risk for catching anything.”

“How do you plan on not having one?” Akira asks, and Goro feels his smile dip into a frown as he continues: “It's not like you can just... schedule when you fall in love with someone or something.”

 _It's much easier to do so when you've been told you don't deserve it,_ Goro thinks wryly—no matter how untrue the statement might be, not when he's been working hard to earn something like it. “I'd be more concerned about you,” he says instead, his heart skipping when Akira's face flushes slightly and he glances away.

An uneasy silence falls between them on the way back to Leblanc; Goro stares at the cafe's door as Akira rests his hand on the handle, considering going in, and shakes his head when Akira offers him a cup of coffee. He couldn't possibly imposition in any way, and he had to get home besides—

Akira shrugs slightly, and Goro's hand reaches out to catch his shoulder before he can think about it. It earns him a wide-eyed stare and the opportunity to press someone who looks very good in red against the door, but he simply squeezes Akira's shoulder instead.

“What were you doing at Takemi-san's clinic? You already know why I was there.”

“Medicine.” He shrugs again, gaze flicking away. “For my cat. Takemi doesn't seem like it, but she's pretty good with animals, too. Morgana's had an upset stomach for a few days, so I wanted to get something for him.”

Goro studies him and the way the streetlights catch on his profile and illuminate the edges of his unruly hair like a golden halo, and he lets his hand drop back between them. He's not sure how much he believes—Tae dealing with animals as well as humans was a stretch, especially how clean one had to keep their office and examination room, and her “medicine” was largely under-the-counter—and he thinks about chasing it, but Akira's already stepping into the Leblanc and calling over his shoulder about how he'll talk to him later, and to get home safely, and a number of other pleasantries that end the second the door closes.

He presses a hand to his heart uncomfortably, a phantom warmth on his lips sowing worry in his mind.

 

* * *

 

Akemi is the one to bring him the lilies he asked for. She looks sour when he opens his apartment door and finds her standing there, dressed in an over-sized hoodie and wearing a flu mask; there's dark rings around her eyes, and she looks fairly pale, but there's a fire smoldering in her brown eyes that warns him not to comment.

He wisely takes the advice and the lilies, inviting her in for tea and to sit out of the heat for a bit. She has to be dying in that hoodie after all.

Her eyebrows press together, but she complies, slumping on the far side of his couch as he busies himself first with putting the retribution lilies in a vase, and second with being a halfway decent host. She's shed her outer layer and tugged her mask down by the time he returns to the living room, looking worn and muted, and neither goes away when he sets the tea down in front of her. He watches her gaze flick around his apartment, judgment burning slowly on her face at his sparse decorations, and pulls the chair from his desk closer to the couch to sit.

He's never felt self-conscious about how bare his apartment is, but he shifts uncomfortably in his seat at her assessment of his living space after a longer-than-necessary silence.

“Fujioka-chan,” he says, then repeats it a little louder to catch her wandering attention—she jerks her head at him on the third try, a _go on_ motion, and Goro laces his fingers in front of the chair. “I met a relative of yours recently... Mari-san?”

“She's my aunt.” Akemi's voice is gravelly and tired—sure signs of heavy coughing. She covers her mouth for a moment, face pinched, but nothing comes, and she lowers her hand again unsteadily. “By marriage. We're not really related.”

“I see.” Yet they were close. How nice for them. “I mentioned she should attempt to direct you to a doctor I'm an acquaintance of... You went to see her, yes?”

Akemi doesn't answer for a while, lips pursing together in frustration, but she eventually nods, and he sighs in relief. “I'm thankful. How did it go?”

A shrug that tells him absolutely nothing, and he patiently waits for her to speak; it's a fruitless effort, given she goes back to looking around his living room, and Goro leans back from his chair, hands moving to hold onto the back of it in front of him. Well—he'd been surprised she answered him at all, given her obvious dislike of him... He glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully, then leans forward again. The back of the chair digs into his chest uncomfortably, but he ignores it. An unwillingness to talk simply meant a change in tactics.

“You seem to be deteriorating at an alarming rate.” Her head jerks over to him, mouth open to retort, but he pushes through her irritated noise with a slight raise of his volume. “Just like Suzui-chan was, but you seem to be doing a better job at hiding it than her, your visit to Takemi-san aside.”

He tilts his head up calmly, watching her, and smiles as kindly as he can manage. “You _do_ have hanahaki disease, don't you.”

“Wouldn't have gone to that fucking doctor if I didn't,” Akemi snaps immediately, arms over her middle; she squeezes her sides, taking a deep breath, and glances away from him with a scowl. “I can take care of it myself though. I don't need some nosy know-it-all getting in my business.”

The words sting a little, but it doesn't dissuade him at all; if anything, they embolden him, and he raises a hand with a sigh, palm up.

“I didn't offer you my help this time, Fujioka-chan. The only thing I've done for you is ask someone to direct you to a doctor I'm aware can soothe your pain and slow the disease.”

She makes a noise that's caught between a cough and a growl at his words; he might have been a tad bit dismissive with them, and that _might_ be the reason for the sound, but he can't think too hard on it, because seconds later she's got her hands on her knees and she's making pained gasping noises, tears in her eyes. Petals spiral out of her mouth, spilling in a multicolored shower across his floor, and Goro's by her side before he can think about anything else. Slowly, slowly her fit calms as he rubs circles on her back, the last thing out of her mouth a full, blue blossom covered mostly in blood from the stress on her throat, and he realizes what he's looking at.

Poppy. It's a poppy, or some sort of poppy... He reaches down and scoops it up without thinking, brushing his thumb over the blood and making a face at the strong, metallic scent of it, and feels Akemi laugh beneath his other hand. It's a rough, pained noise, and he frowns as a second realization clicks into place. Her exhausted looks, her worn voice...

“You didn't take Takemi-san's medicine.” Akemi's quiet, but the silence is answer enough. Goro draws away, letting the whole flower drop from his hand. “Why?”

“It's more romantic if you suffer,” she replies, tone mocking, but the frustrated look on her face doesn't match her words at all. “I _said_ it wasn't a serious thing, right? And that if I ever wanted to like, confess to him, I would. No problem. No skin off my nose. I'm not a pansy like Suzui.”

“If it's not serious,” he replies carefully, studying her, “then why are you retching up flowers on my living room floor?”

She sits up slowly, pulling her hands away from her knees, and slumps back against the couch with her arms around her middle again. He can tell she doesn't want to speak, but he doesn't care. As far as he's concerned right now, she's in need of help, and she's the one who spilled her guts in front of him. The flowers deserve an explanation, and he's willing to wait for it.

Eventually, Akemi gives in and closes her eyes, grumbling something inaudible before she answers.

“Because it suddenly got serious, alright? I saw him with... someone else, and it was a total bummer, but I was like, sure I'd get over it. And then I just didn't.” _You can't schedule when you fall in love,_ Akira's voice reminds him. He pushes it aside and focuses on Akemi. “I started coughing this crap up and skipped school until it calmed down.”

“And you can't tell him now because you're afraid of what might happen if you do,” he replies carefully. Akemi grimaces, obviously wanting to retort but not able to, and he nods once. A second time as he straightens up, heading to the closet to pick up a broom and dustpan. He kneels by the flowers, sweeping them in mechanically as he continues. “Are they romantically involved?”

Akemi shrugs. Goro pauses, watching her through his eyelashes, then goes back to sweeping.

“In most cases, it's rather obvious when two people like each other, or when at least one person is smitten. If you cannot discern that, then... it's possible there's no such thing between them.” He manages to keep his voice steady, even as Akemi looks at him with her semi-permanent glare. “I'd suggest you take Takemi-san's medicine and do a little detective work. If things seem favorable, then go for it.”

“And if they don't?” she asks, voice trembling slightly. Goro purses his lips and leaves to dump the flowers and their petals in his trash, returning for a second round.

“Then it may be better to attempt to get over them. I believe the disease goes dormant then, or... perhaps it's expelled for good after... Regardless, it wouldn't bother you again.” _Not until the next time this happens_ remains unspoken, and Goro meets her gaze steadily. Akemi holds it for a full minute before she stands and pulls on her hoodie again, pushing her flu mask back up.

“Whatever. Give me your number so I can call you.”

He finishes cleaning up and does so, and she shuts the door in his face before he can wish her the best of luck as she leaves his apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh, we're finally back..!!! vacation was fun, if tiring, and while i didn't manage to get out a chapter during it, i did manage to write this and a few other things afterwards, so i can't feel too bad... anyway, thank you all for waiting patiently for sakuraso's new chapter! your support means the world to me, to be honest.
> 
> the next update will be **september 7th**! what's going to happen with akemi, and what's up with akira... i wonder (*´艸`)


	11. anemone III

Akira compliments his picture taking skills, then asks about the blood on the flowers.

Goro smiles and twirls a lily between his fingers, leaning into the phone with a soft sigh. “Actually... That's simply their coloring. It does look a lot like blood splatter though, doesn't it?”

“A little too much like it,” comes the agreement. They settle into an uneasy pause, the potential threat of hanahaki lingering in the space between breaths, and Goro pushes the flower back into place in the vase just as Akira asks if he's being careful. He hesitates, fingertips lingering on the uneven scarlet circles, then hums affirmatively. Careful, yes, of course. Akira laughs breathlessly in his ear and he feels his face turn red at the sound, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. “That's not very convincing, Akechi.”

“My sincerest apologies, Kurusu-kun.” Even he's aware he doesn't sound apologetic at all, and Akira's continued laughter solidifies it. Goro feels his lips curl up tighter, happier, closing his eyes. “I'll take care, I promise. I'm going to see Takemi-san later today anyway, so I'll have her do a quick check-up on me, if that will assuage your worries.”

“It'd do wonders for me,” Akira replies. “Thanks.”

“It's no trouble.” It's a little trouble, but he'd rather not worry anyone. “How's Morgana?”

Akira makes a noise like he doesn't know what he's talking about, and Goro's eyes open immediately. He waits, tapping his phone gently, before he ventures gently forward. “You said you were getting medicine for him the last time we met up, at Takemi-san's clinic. Has he been doing well since?”

“Oh, well...” There's shuffling in his ear and a clearing of his throat, and Goro presses his lips together. “Yeah, mostly. Actually, I should go check on him—”

“Kurusu-kun—”

“I'll talk to you later, Akechi.” A beat, and Akira whispers, almost too soft to catch: “Sorry.”

His chest tightens slightly at the silence on the other end.

 

* * *

 

Tae thanks him for the flowers and the mask, gives him a quick physical, and tells him to come back in a few weeks—there's no way to tell if hanahaki's sown itself in his lungs this early. Goro heads out and to Inokashira Park, intent on stretching his legs (it feels as if it'd been forever since he went cycling), and halfway through his exercise he hears his phone ring faintly above the muted sound of rubber on stone. He slows to a stop, resting his weight on a leg and unclipping his helmet, hooking it on his bike's handle as he answers.

“Hiro rejected the girl I saw him with,” Akemi immediately starts, and Goro takes a moment to register that oh, Hiro must be who she's in love with. He makes an affirmative noise, and she takes a deep breath. “They're definitely _not_ going out.”

“So you're planning on confessing,” he says, and tries not to feel too offended when Akemi barks a laugh in his ear. “Why not? As I said, if it seems favorable—”

“Just because he rejected _her_ and doesn't mean he's gonna take me,” she snaps. Goro weighs her words and sighs, watching birds swoop at each other in the overcast sky. She has a point he can't refute—but it's a reassuring sign nonetheless, he thinks. It means she _has_ a chance—she only needs to show this Hiro her good side. Akemi huffs when he tells her so, and Goro waits for a better answer than that.

“Fine,” she finally says, and he smiles slightly. “But _you're_ gonna help me practice.”

His smile fades immediately. “Excuse me? Practice what, exactly?”

“Everything.” He hears her drum her fingers on wood, steady and hard. “Showing off my good side or whatever, confessing, stuff like that.” The drumming pauses thoughtfully, then begins again. “You _are_ the dumbass who's supposed to be helping me with this hanahaki shit anyway, right? Be useful.”

Goro feels the side of his mouth twitch in irritation, but he agrees. He almost immediately regrets it.

It's several very long days (weeks) of shopping, being practice-flirted with, and fake love confessions either stumbled over and shouted directly into his face—no middle ground. He stares at his dwindling wallet and presses his fingers to his temple; this was more expensive than he'd anticipated it being. The only thing keeping him from thinking it's all a farce to simply spend his savings is the memory of Akemi's flowers on his living room floor and the periodic petals she coughs up even now, looking frustrated and squinting like she's trying to keep from crying.

Haru identifies them as poppy anemone when he describes them and shows her a picture of a blossom that Akemi'd expelled during one of their outings. Nozomi at Rafflesia gives him their meaning—suffering in love—and he buys an uneven amount of white chrysanthemums as thanks. One gets left on Leblanc's counter for Akira; the rest make their home in a vase on his kitchen counter to replace the retribution lilies he'd had before. Akemi Fujioka's day of reckoning comes at the beginning of fall semester.

“The sooner I get this over with, the better,” she explains, rolling her pencil between her fingers. She's wearing one of the hair-clips she insisted he buy for her; it matches the red and white charm bracelet she'd found somewhere in her room almost three days ago. “And I'm totally ready.”

Goro declines to remind her how many times she's reminded him that she's always been ready, she was just waiting for the opportunity. Even if she'd deserve it. He smiles instead, lacing his fingers together, and wishes her the best of luck.

 

* * *

 

He receives a funeral invitation at the day of the third. The card is white, with delicate calligraphy denoting the date and time of the event. When he turns it over, he finds girlish handwriting in dark graphite and spots of wetness at the corner. It asks him to attend, signed with Shiho's name, and he turns it over in his hands until the buzzing of his phone catches his attention.

It's Akira, with an offer to go out to eat with some friends. Goro glances at the time and thinks of how (little) he's eaten today, and declines with a simple _I'm busy. My apologies._

He sets it aside and ignores the persistent vibrations against his leg, flipping through his notes and highlighting phrases. Death rates are high, but higher specifically among those who never speak their feelings; there are a number of accounts of people coming forward about not knowing someone else's feelings because they never said anything. Those same people, he finds, sometimes contract hanahaki disease as well, though for a substantially shorter time—the pain is far more acute in those cases, too. Death by rejection isn't uncommon, but it isn't the most common reason for hanahaki-related deaths—and it's almost never instantaneous. The infected usually passes out after a heavy coughing fit, and they're often submitted to a hospital afterwards for immediate surgery to save their lives. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn't. The suddenness of the invitation makes him think the worst of the situation, and he leaves his phone on the couch as he moves to look for something appropriate to wear.

On Monday, he steps into the temple dressed in a muted charcoal suit; it's tailored to fit, but stiff from disuse, and he plays with his cufflinks as he surveys the crowd. A crying woman being held by an older man—her mother and father, probably. Three girls gathered together to whisper and hide their eyes, wiping their cheeks with their black kimono—sisters, perhaps? He hadn't known if Akemi had any family outside of the aunt he met and her parents.

He hadn't known anything about her at all, really.

Shiho approaches him, similarly dressed in black; Ann's at her arm, distanced enough for them to be considered just friends instead of anything more, and Goro's reminded that outside of the small circle of people he's found himself with, their relationship isn't the usual. He realizes too, when he gives a quick look around, that her aunt Mari isn't to be found.

“I'm sorry things turned out this way,” he murmurs to the two of them. Shiho's smile is watery, and Ann gives her a soft look before she shakes her head and tells him it's not his fault. Goro catches Akemi's mother's gaze and glances away, an uneasy chuckle following the motion. “Maybe not, but... I still feel responsible. I was supposed to help her, after all.”

“You couldn't have known how it'd turn out,” Ann insists, setting her hand on his arm; he stares at it, lips pressed firmly together. Maybe not, but—maybe if he'd been more thorough in his research of Akemi, of who she liked, of if she was actually taking her medicine and if she really stood a chance or if this is something he should've advised waiting on to see if her feelings passed...

Or if they'd just magnify. There are rare cases of that; an unfortunate effect of the body's desire to get rid of the disease one way or another. Goro lays his hand on Ann's and lifts his head back up, smiling tightly. Maybe it would've been hopeless. Maybe not.

“I have to apologize to her parents as well. Please excuse me—it was good to see you both.”

Her mother weeps on his shoulder, her fingers digging tightly into his jacket; her father keeps on eye on the rest of the proceedings, stoic save for the hurt he wears when he looks at his daughter's picture on the stand beside him. Goro kneels in front of the temporary shrine once he's released, his jacket warm and wet by his neck, and presses his hands together.

Akemi Fujioka stares at him condescendingly in her school photo.

He finds more students of Shujin have attended than he thought would—several girls who comment on how sad it all is, how bad they feel for Akemi and her family. Several boys who claim they would've swept her off her feet if she'd only confess to them.

Hiro Yakizawa, handsome and pale-faced and on the outskirts of it all. He'd been helpfully pointed out by other students as “the guy Akemi died for,” and while the epitaph isn't misleading, it isn't favorable either. Goro smiles at him, tired, and sees it reflected in the young man's expression. He must feel guilty about this too, and his peers must not be making it any easier—he can't imagine the Fujioka family has either, really. He's surprised Hiro even came, given the nature of the death. He doesn't say so, though.

They stand in silence, watching proceedings, and Hiro gives him the smallest of nods when he sees Ann and Shiho approaching. Goro turns to watch him slip out of the temple, shoulders hunched, then offers his arm to the two of them.

“Allow me to walk you home, or... wherever it is you're going to today.”

 _Wherever_ ends up being Leblanc, and Goro can't even decline going in; Ann pulls him inside with them, and the group at the booth—Akira, Futaba, Yusuke, and Ryuji—look up as one at his stumble. He feels Akira's gaze linger a hot second too long before he turns it back to his work, letting the rest of them catch up; Ann's subdued as she talks about where they've been and how it went, and Shiho sniffles beside her. She at least accepts his invitation to sit in the booth beside the bigger group, resting against him when they settle.

Goro hesitates, then rests his arm around her shoulder and leans his cheek on the top of her head.

“Suzui-chan, you needn't answer this, but I was curious...” He pauses, waiting until she asks him to go on, and he rubs her arm softly, methodically. “Why did you ask me to help Fujioka-chan? It's hardly a secret that she wasn't very fond of you.”

“She was just rough around the edges,” Shiho replies quietly, staring at her hands in her lap. “She helped me a lot w-with Ann, so... Um, like being able to meet her and things... She'd take my place for chores, and she'd tell me to just tell her already, because it was r-really annoying to see me mooning over some girl that wasn't even in the same class as us...”

She laughs, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“I don't think we were friends, but... she was a good person, Akechi-kun. I thought so, anyway.”

Goro doesn't say anything to that. He barely says anything at all until everyone else has left and his new seat partner, Morgana, is scooped out of reach. Akira and Futaba stare down at him when he looks up, and he offers them a smile.

He can tell it's the worst he's ever tried, because neither of them seem convinced.

“We have to close now,” Akira says, and Goro nods. Of course they do; it's late, the others have already gone home, Futaba and Akira must want to sleep... “Are you staying?”

He stops nodding, brows pressing together, and knows his mouth's gone slack by the way he doesn't have to exert any extra energy asking, “Excuse me?”

“Are you staying?” Futaba repeats it this time, leaning forward; Morgana wiggles as he nearly falls out of her arms, but she doesn't seem to care. “I mean, Akira's got room if you're too tired to get home yourself—and no offense, but you look like you've totally been MP drained.”

He's no stranger to video games, so the reference clicks—but she's right that he's tired, because it takes it a moment to register that she means he looks utterly exhausted. The poor sleep he's so proud of having and recent events must be doing a bigger number on him than he realizes; Akemi's untimely death must be weighing heavier on him than he thinks, too. Goro contemplates the offer as he reclines in the booth, then checks the time on his phone.

“It seems how long I've actually stayed here has decided my answer for me...” He doesn't even try a smile, but he does get up; Akira shifts to give him room, and Futaba straightens back up and takes a few steps away with Morgana. “The train I need doesn't run this late, so... Please forgive the imposition, Kurusu-kun.”

“It's no trouble,” Akira replies easily, rubbing the back of his neck, and Goro feels the edge of his lip quirk slightly. Futaba looks between them for a moment and raises Morgana over her head the next, wiggling him. He meows piteously, ears set back, but doesn't try to escape her grasp.

“I'm gonna take Mona then! Since you're not gonna need him.” She shoots Akira small grin, and Akira shakes his head with a sigh. “You two sleep tight! I'll let Sojiro know what's up so he's not all suspicious of you in the morning.”

Goro doesn't even get to ask what sort of _trouble_ Sakura-san thinks they'd be able to get up to before the door's shutting on her heels; she can be fast when she wants to be, he notes, and when Akira tells him to head upstairs first—he has to clean and close—he nods, dragging his feet to the stairs with a yawn. He feels more awake as he begins to climb them though, anticipation winding a steel wire around his heart—he realizes he's never been in Akira's room before. He's never been in anyone's room before, not like this, and he pauses at the second to last step, bracing himself on the railing as he stares at the dimly light room above.

Three footfalls bring him past the threshold, and he takes in the state of it. A lot of boxes and clutter, with shelves of knick-knacks being the biggest offender, a desk in the corner with an ancient-looking laptop and several books, a bed suited to one person (two if you squeezed, he supposes), an old-fashioned television to the side beside an old couch... He takes a seat on it, frowning at its firmness, and realizes in the same moment that he'll probably be sleeping on it.

It's a little comfier than what he's had to sleep on before, he'll give it that. Akira shakes his head when he comes up stairs, motioning to the bed, and Goro glances over at it before he shakes his head right back.

“I couldn't take your bed, Kurusu-kun. The couch is fine.”

“The couch has a loose spring that could kill someone if they're not careful.” The rise of his eyebrows kills the seriousness of his tone though, and Goro gives him a flat look before he leans back with purpose, eyes closing. Akira twitches his lips, then makes his way over to the bed and flops on it with a long sigh. Goro waits a moment before he peeks open eye, unable to help the smile tugging at his lips, and begins undoing his tie.

Fifteen minutes later, they've both changed into looser clothing and brushed their teeth; Akira touches his shoulder when he tells him they can share his bed. “It isn't that small, and I don't want you to wake up sore in the morning,” he continues, and Goro stares at it for a moment and contemplates how the fingers on his back feel like irons.

“If it's no trouble,” he replies, heart thudding in his chest when he realizes he's agreed, and Akira shakes his head. _No trouble at all._

They play a game for the edge; Akira wins, and Goro slides in first, feeling the borrowed shirt ride up his stomach slightly. It's a little too small for him, though not by much—he and Akira have similar enough builds that it works out. Akira turns off the light and steps through shadow, looking washed out in the moonlight before he climbs into bed beside him.

It's harder to focus on sleeping when there's someone else beside him, he finds. He's too aware of the rise and fall of Akira's chest, how warm he is where their bodies touch; he's too aware of the way the building creaks and settles. In the daylight, it feels comforting and cozy. At night, it reminds him of cramped rooms and no air. Goro presses his back to the wall and sighs softly, covering his face with his hands, and counts the steady beat of his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **anemone - poppy anemone, symbolizing innocent love, suffering in love, and fading hope**
> 
> it actually has a lot of other meanings, but they were a little hard for me to translate—none of them get much better than the ones i've decided to list anyway (outside of individual colors, i guess).
> 
> anyway, four chapters left after this, huh? as always, your support—from reading, to kudosing, to commenting, to sharing with friends—means the world to me! thank you all so, so much. the next update will be **september 21st** , unless i get eager and end up posting it next week... if anything changes schedule-wise, i'll be sure to note it. i'm just really excited to get to the end of this fic!! in a good way. (it's... admittedly what i've been writing this whole fic for, which is sort of ridiculous, ahaha)
> 
> i almost forgot that i never mentioned which zine i was part of when i... mentioned it... [sweats] it's a shuake fanzine, and you can find more information at @shuakezine on twitter.
> 
> anyway, i hope you all have a good day, and i'll see you on the breather chapter! (or if you comment, then i guess you'll see me in the comment section)


	12. [choke]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! just some notes before we begin.
> 
> this isn't a very happy chapter all the way through, and i'm sorry; i felt it was important to write it out and get everything down though, before we head into the last past of this story, given it's going to be focusing a lot on goro and akira. it deals with a lot of things in the past, so the good news is that skipping it won't leave you in the dark about what's presently happening! so if anything in the following list bothers you, you can check out now, if you'd like: **referenced/stated child abuse and abuse in general, the foster care system being balls in general,** and things of that nature. i promise nothing is incredibly explicitly written out though.
> 
> i'll say it here just in case anyone decides to skip out on this chapter, but the next one will be **october 5th!** as always, thank you for all the support! it really means a lot ♥

Goro Akechi is ten years old and two days into staying at an unfamiliar building full of children of all ages when he realizes two very important things: his mother isn't coming back from the hospital, and she isn't coming to get him. Two boys on either side of him kick him until he stops crying, and a third presses a pillow to his face to quiet his whimpers; it's a halfhearted attempt though, and Goro bites his lip until he feels the pressure on his cheek finally give way. He curls tighter under his blanket, arms slowly reaching up for the pillow to squeeze against his chest, and lets out a shuddering breath with his mouth firmly pressed against it. When he can finally get to sleep, he dreams about thin, red petals in the bottom of their trash can and the way his mother's hands shook when she held knives, pale blue veins showing through her pale thin skin, and the tired, impatient stretch of her smile as they talked.

He's eleven the first time he moves out of the institution. He's still eleven when he moves back in; his foster parents sent him back the second he accidentally stayed out past curfew one night. The second time he moves, he stays for three weeks and comes back with a broken arm he got from “falling out of a tree.” It isn't the truth—one of his sisters, another girl from the system who was older, stronger, and meaner pushed him out when he laughed at her attempt to climb to a higher branch. The couple who'd taken them always favored her—they'd always wanted a girl, anyway. Goro's fresh out of his cast when he meets goes to home number three, and he wears skirts and dresses at his mother's request until he has enough of prancing prettily and races in the mud with the boys in the neighborhood instead.

She's furious, and how dirty he is from playing hides the bruises she's given him from the person who comes to pick him up, disappointment in the slump of his shoulders and cordial words falling from his lips. Goro bites his tongue on explanations until they're in the car, and the man taking him back to the institution merely says that not every family's perfect, but he has to appreciate them all the same.

He turns twelve his fourth time out, but there's no cake, and there's no celebration; there's the scream of children and parents trying to get them to shut up, and Goro hides himself in a closet, arms around his legs. He gets into a fight with one of his older siblings when the latter tries to drag him out, and he stares out the institution's windows two weeks later. One of the caretakers wishes him a belated happy birthday and gives him an origami crane; he hides it in a different place every day, but eventually it gets found and torn to pieces. He carries the scraps in his pockets until he forgets to take them out and someone mistakes them for trash.

The worst part is, it isn't like the people in the institution don't _care_ ; they try their best, and he recognizes that, but there are only so many adults to too many children, and they're all tired. They turn a blind eye to bigger kids pushing smaller ones around, to the stealing, to the rankings that form and shuffle every couple of months. They pay attention to kids who fight back and punish them for straying out of line, and bruises and scratches cling to him like a contagious disease in the months, weeks, days, hours he's not in a new home.

After a while, he learns to keep his mouth shut. After a while, he stops hoping someone'll take him in and works on being able to fend for himself when he's out. Twelve turns to thirteen, and hiding in closets and keeping quiet turns into ducking beneath ornamental jasmine and thumbing through the books he's been so graciously allowed to borrow from his foster parents. He falls asleep out there beneath the flowers one too many times and has to read beneath his stolen blankets at the institution instead, squinting in the dim light of a glow-in-the-dark star he'd swiped before he left the house.

It burns out quickly enough. He sticks closer to the sides of caretakers and hides his face in his books when the jeers of _suck up_ and _kiss ass_ get thrown his way when authority figures stray too far from him. It's no different than school, where the same thing happens the older he gets, but he realizes that it doesn't matter how used to it he gets: it still hurts. It still sucks. It still makes him want to throw his book at them and scream, but he never does. He pretends not to hear and pretends the resulting bullying isn't anything, either. Outside the institution or inside the institution, children are all the same.

He has his first kiss halfway through thirteen, with an older boy from one of his clubs; he has dark hair and pretty brown eyes, and they never speak again afterwards. He has his second, third, fourth, and an uncountable number soon after; he's finding out quickly how starved for affection he is, how far he'll go for it. It's a little out of hand, he knows. He knows even better when it's one of his foster brothers and his father finds them. Goro gets blamed, again; Goro gets moved back to the solid brick walls and loud halls he's been in and out of long enough to call home, again. He doesn't get sent to another house for the rest of thirteen, and he makes constellations and stories out of the bruises on his arms, chest, legs, hips, sides, fingers. He resolves not to fall too far again because maybe people are right when they say he doesn't deserve things like this, that he's disgusting for indulging.

He watches girls play with flower petals and disappear two days later. He doesn't see them ever again.

He's fourteen when he goes to the hospital for something other than broken bones. It's for appendicitis and for the first time, his fellow orphans keep their distance and keep their hands to themselves. There's whispers that he's sick and contagious, and Goro focuses on his education and practicing his people skills in the mirror instead of listening to them. He's tired of them. He's tired of this place. He gets placed into homes and stays on his best behavior, but even then he gets sent away for the slightest infraction—he snuck out of his room once to sit on the roof and watch the sunrise through Tokyo's air pollution, he was found holding hands ( _just holding hands_ ) two blocks from the apartment, his hair's too long and he won't cut it.

He leaves two months to fifteen and impresses the family who fosters him enough to let him have a job and a life they don't ask too many questions about; he goes out of his way to make connections and help where he can, saving his money, and thanks them with a straight back when the beginning of June finally rolls around. They ask if there's anything else they can do for him, or if he wouldn't like to stay with them for a while longer, and he can't tell if they're pretty words or if they really mean it. He's heard too many of the former and can't believe in the latter, and he shakes his head slowly, a smile stretched like leather across his face. No, he's fine. He has a place in mind, and he'd like a chance to be independent. He'll let them know if he needs anything.

They smile sadly, but their shoulders relax in relief, and he pushes back the disgust and disappointment that threatens to rise up in his throat.

Goro stops at the stairs of the Diet Building one night of several and thinks about going in to talk to his father, that wretched man his mother never stopped telling him he'd become when she was at her lowest. He adjusts the grip on his bag instead and leaves, finding somewhere nice to sleep for the night. It isn't hard; there are plenty of places for the homeless to hide, and as long as he's presentable and his clothes are clean, no one's ever the wiser that he sleeps squeezed between alley walls and the back of industrial dumpsters. No one thinks the boy at the top of his class—at the top of his year, who sold himself to a prestigious high school with diligent study and people-pleasing smiles—might be on the same level as common rabble, as long as he doesn't look the part.

It takes him two years and seven drug rings busted thanks to his intel before the police take him anything nearing serious. He gets paid though, is the thing, even if what he's getting paid for is coffee runs and being a soundboard that isn't actually expected to speak, but expected to solve whatever cases they decide to throw his way. Goro thinks his role is something close to a yes-man, and he spends more of his free time (his limited free time) finding things to do and acquiescing to interviews for some of the bigger bones he's been thrown by his higher-ups.

He's three months into seventeen when he finally has a place to call his own—a small, plain-looking apartment in Ueno. He doesn't bother to dress it up—his hopes of keeping it long-term aren't the best—and he doesn't bother to invite anyone over, either. He smiles for his superiors and works diligently on his schoolwork and casework when he has it, chatting amicably with those who strike up conversation. He smiles in an increasingly placating way at Sae every time she tells him to get some rest, slightly irritated but mostly uncomfortably aware of just how sharp she is—not to mention how, despite their efforts to keep things solely professional, something erring on _motherly_ works its way into her tone when she speaks to him. He tries not to begrudge her too much—he's aware she has a sister his age, and it's likely because of that it naturally comes out—but it's still something he's wholly unused to, and something he's unused to _missing_ when she's too busy to bother with him.

Goro buries the feeling beneath thorns and ash, and when he sleeps, he dreams of comfort and a place he doesn't have to carve a space for himself out in—he just has to _be_ , and that just be enough.

 

* * *

 

Akira Kurusu is twelve years old when he gets into his first fight. It isn't his fault that some people can't take smart remarks, but he keeps _those_ statements to himself when it's his turn to talk to the principal. He explains, holding an ice pack to his bruising face, that he and his classmate were just talking when he got punched. He leaves out the fact he provoked him with a comment to distract him from the girl he'd been harassing, and he gets off with a warning that's all bark, no bite.

Stepping out of the principal's office, he hears his classmate isn't so lucky. Akira smiles and winces when it pulls his cheeks too wide. The proper beat-down he gets off of school grounds is worth it though, especially when the girl he helped gives him a small, thankful smile when she sees him in the hallway. Still, he shoves his hands in his pocket and avoids angry young men for the rest of the week, and he tries not to feel too resentful for the way other people stare at his bruises when they talk to him—they don't even know the story, they just...

His mom tells him to mind his own business when he grumbles to her, and Akira watches her make dinner across the kitchen island moodily.

Eventually, the fights stop; the days grow normal again, with classmates chattering and treating him the same as ever, and Akira finds he has an itch he can't scratch. To say he goes looking for trouble isn't wrong by any stretch of the imagination, but he errs on the side of helpful in all his endeavors and smiles when people ask him if he's hot in all the long-sleeves he starts wearing; he thanks them for the compliment and shrugs off their glances.

He finds friends in the people he helps, that he _saves_ , and it's exhilarating to be thanked, to be loved like this, even if none of the adults in his life appreciate the fact he _is_ making a difference. That he's bettering things, because he's not standing by and letting them happen. No one deserves to be coerced into things they don't want—no one deserves a blind eye being turned to their plight. He spends thirteen and fourteen earning scars and broken bones and the relationship with his parents breaking down into murmurs to pass food at the dinner table and bland, cordial words every other time.

He tries not to care, but he sneaks out at night every so often to just get away for a few hours. If he finds someone to help, he pretends it's not exactly what he was looking for—that'd be wishing ill on someone, _hoping_ that something's happening just so he can swoop in and help and feel a little better about himself and what he's decided to do. It feels a lot like it though, sometimes, and he buries the thoughts under makeup and layers of clothing.

Halfway through fourteen, his luck runs out, and he's escorted home by a policeman. He digs his nails into the soft palms of his hands and forces himself to keep his face neutral at the tired, angry looks of his parents—they hadn't been expecting to see him, this early or at all, not until they had to, and especially not with the company he has. He keeps his head up as he's scolded, words going in one ear and out the other, and only flinches when his mother slaps him across the face the second he's safely inside and the door's shut firmly behind him. He holds his cheek, trembling, and goes back to his room without a word.

She apologizes in the morning, but he's not convinced it's completely sincere—not with the way she's acted before, not with how tired he makes her. He does feel a little bad when she tells him he worries her, and he uses his growth spurt to rest his head against the side of hers, arms tight around her when she hugs him and presses her face into his shoulder. His father watches impassively from the living room, then shuffles his newspaper and tells him not to do it again. It'd reflect badly on them, and he's looking to get elected as a representative for the town this winter.

Akira feels fire curl in his belly and he focuses on his mother's breathing.

At fifteen, he enters high school and finds it's not so different than middle. It is, at least, vaguely more reputable; his grades are good enough for it, his record cleaner than it should be (and, he thinks, he has his father to thank for that, but he never _would_ )... His classmates are distant though, focused on their futures, and Akira realizes he doesn't care about that sort of thing when his teacher passes out career sheets. He doodles swirls and cat paws in the margins, wondering what to put, and ends up writing _vigilante_ in the blank.

His teacher scolds him for not taking it seriously, and he hears the same thing from his mother. His father, though, simply sends him a disapproving look before he leaves for work, just like he does every morning. He tries to tell himself he doesn't care, but he scales the wall of his house and stares at the stars at night, itching and itching and _itching_ to do something, again. So he does. He picks fights to help people, he runs errands erring on illegal, and he keeps his head down everywhere else. It's easier to get away with what he _wants_ to do when he's not wearing it like a badge, he's realized, and in the end, the recognition and gratitude in people's eyes when he smiles crookedly at them is enough. It has to be, because despite his better efforts not to be swayed by rhetoric, he understands that standing out too much isn't that great.

An upright nail is eventually hammered down, after all.

Akira is sixteen years old when he gets into his last fight (into what he considers his last fight). It's not even much of a fight—it's right place, right time, wrong _person,_ and he wears practiced impassivity like armor when his mother raises her voice in an attempt to make him listen for once and _learn_ from what happens this time _please_ Akira, when his father rails on him for causing such a scandal _for them,_ when he learns his actual record comes to light in the courts and people step up as witnesses to vouch for his violent nature _(including people he helped, the people he's saved and the people he_ _ **trusted**_ ), when he's on a train to Tokyo to live with someone he's never met and who he's been told isn't going to be very nice. The countryside slides past, accompanied by the rhythmic clacking of the rails, and he closes his eyes.

He doesn't sleep, but he thinks about having somewhere to belong, with people who don't ditch him the moment trouble rises up and he's not treated as some sort of _inconvenience._

 


	13. sakuraso I

Akira is too warm and too close when Goro wakes up; his arms are around his waist, his head tucked in the crook of his neck, and he suppresses a shiver when a sigh ghosts across skin made slightly wet with spit. Goro does his best to pull away without stirring his company, pausing at the barest hint of wakefulness, and manages to at least sit up before grey eyes open. They stay trained on the borrowed shirt he's wearing for a moment before their gaze rises, Akira's head tilting with it slightly, and he smiles sleepily.

Goro's heart leaps to his throat and he barely answers Akira's good morning with a murmured one of his own. He comes to find the boy is more catlike than he imagined, stretching languidly and mumbling nonsense as he's gently nudged away; the serenity of the situation is ultimately ended when he finally rolls over with a sigh and goes too far, slipping off the bed with a surprised yelp. Goro leans over the edge immediately, hands firmly planted in the sheets, and he must look less concerned than he feels because Akira frowns at him slightly and tells him to stop grinning.

He complies, smoothing his expression into nothing, and when Akira sits up on the floor with a soft groan he swings his legs down beside him; the wood is cold beneath his feet, but not the same way the tile in his apartment is. Goro rubs the back of his neck, glancing around—Morgana's nowhere to be seen, and he remembers Futaba leaving with him...

Akira yawns beside him and leans against his legs, his head tilted in an attempt to get some lap action, and Goro stares down at him with pursed lips.

“Was it really alright to let Morgana go with Futaba-chan?” he asks, and when Akira's eyebrows press together and he makes an unsure humming noise, Goro leans closer. “Wasn't he sick?”

“Did he look sick?” Akira shoots back, and he feels his eyebrows rise at the tone. “He got better a couple of weeks ago.”

“My apologies for being busy. Fujioka-chan—” His breath catches on the name, and a hand settles on one of his feet; the rubbing, while an obvious act of lazy comfort, is just _ticklish_ , and he gently kicks Akira's hand away a few times before he leans back on his hands. Akira joins him back on the bed after he's done chuckling, some distance set between them.

The centimeters between them feel like kilometers compared to a few minutes ago. Goro stretches his fingers out on the sheets, then closes his eyes.

“Fujioka-chan kept me very busy. She asked me to be her practice partner, and I agreed, so the rest of my summer break was spent helping her bring out the very best in herself.” His voice doesn't quiver, at odds with how he feels—sick and upset, because the responsibility of helping her still weighs heavy on his shoulders. There had to have been more he could have done for her. There _had_ to be. “Perhaps once things settle down we could go out for lunch. I think I'm going to take a break from taking on cases, at least of the hanahaki disease variety, for a bit... but I'd still like to spend time with you. You're a very refreshing individual, Kurusu-kun.”

“Let's just go out today,” Akira replies, and Goro hums softly. “You need the distraction, and I need the company. You're not gonna see me for a few days anyway after this—”

“Why not—ah, wait. School trip, correct? I've heard some of my juniors speaking of their own.” He smiles slightly. “I wasn't able to attend my own year's, so I'm glad you're able to... I was a little—” He pauses, searching for how to describe his tumultuous relationship with having a place to sleep, and settles for: “Occupied, at the time.”

Akira nods, and Goro sweeps his gaze across the knick-knack filled room before he stands to get dressed. He feels eyes on him until he pulls his borrowed shirt up over his head; they cut away, and he catches an embarrassed flush on his company's face from the corner of his eye. His lips twitch in amusement before he can stop them and he changes quickly, carding his fingers through his hair to brush it when he's through. Sojiro gives him a weighted look that makes his skin warm beneath his collar, and he greets him with a small nod.

A few minutes later, he's left with a plate of curry and a hot cup of coffee, and he stirs the meat and vegetables in with the rice as he listens to Sojiro bustle about the kitchen. Akira joins them soon enough, mumbling his thanks for the food set in front of him, and the scene—eating breakfast with him, albeit at the counter of a coffee shop and with something decidedly not breakfasty in front of them—is idyllically domestic. It's been so long since he had a breakfast that wasn't simply a piece of toast and eggs; it's been so long since someone _cooked him something;_ it's been so long since he ate with someone like this...

Goro savors it. Futaba joins them soon enough, her arrival punctuated with the loud meow of a hungry cat and a call for an extra runny egg on her order, and the quiet of the morning is quickly filled with small chatter between father and daughter—at least until she settles into a seat beside him, having gotten Morgana his food. He smiles at her and she grins, motioning him closer; he regrets doing so immediately, because she hooks her arm around his neck and drags him almost off the chair with the force of it.

“Did you and Akira do anything?” She whispers, eyebrows waggling in his peripheral, and despite the fact they did not, in fact, _do anything_ his face flushes. Futaba cackles softly and he shakes his head quickly. Her grin turns immediately to a frown, and she pulls to the side to stare at Akira—it dips further into a scowl when evidently she doesn't get anything from him, either, and she lets him go, scooting to a different chair entirely with her plate. Goro rubs his neck gently, leaning away, and finishes his breakfast a little quicker than he'd like to.

 

* * *

 

As promised, he visits Tae's clinic when his schedule allows—the wait to see her is quicker this time, and he unbuttons his shirt as soon as he sits down. She smiles at him, more amused than anything, and he does as she asks—take deep breaths, tell me how you've been feeling, have you had any dietary changes? He hums when she calls his name mid-buttoning and looks over, Tae asks him if he has anyone he likes.

Akira comes to mind immediately, unasked for, and his heart thunders in his chest like it's trying to escape.

“I don't,” he replies as neutrally as he can manage, finishing his buttons. “Why do you ask?”

Tae opens her mouth, then closes it, tapping her pen against her lips. She stands and moves to a cabinet, rooting through bottles, and instructs him to sniff from a small, six-ounce one. He gives her a wary look, then turns the same on the seemingly empty bottle, but twists the cap open and immediately regrets his first inhale.

Every exhale for the next several minutes is a shuddering, hacking cough; his chest and sides hurt by the time his fit calms down and the aromatic bottle's put away. When he opens his eyes, tears pricking at the side of them from the force of his coughs, he finds dainty purple petals in his lap. Goro stares at them, not registering what it _means_ until Tae—with a flu mask, now—collects them in a gloved hand and deposits them into a plastic sandwich bag with a thoughtful hum.

“For someone who doesn't have anyone he likes,” she says, waving the bag at him, “your flower's growing pretty nicely.”

The hair on the back of his neck rises and he takes it from her; she lets him, surprisingly enough, and he hesitates before he shakes all the petals to one side so he can fold the bag up neatly and slide it into his pocket. “I was around retribution lilies,” he replies impassively, watching the white tile floor. “It's only natural that I'd be chancing infection. It's likely just dormant or something.”

“They're only buds when they're dormant,” Tae corrects him, and Goro sees her cross and uncross her legs in his peripheral. “Yours are starting to open up.” She pauses, and he hears the soft crinkle of a wrapper; she's got a small lollipop in her mouth when he looks up, and she offers him one when she catches his eye. Goro stares, but accepts it, happy to busy his fingers with playing with its paper edges.

“If I liked anyone,” and the words are hard to acknowledge, when he's refused to put a name to the fluttering, pattering, warm feeling he gets around Akira, “I'm at least sure they like me back. They've made that fairly clear within the past couple of months.”

_And what if that's not the case anymore?_ his mind whispers, a traitor to his words and the herald of his honest feelings, and Goro imagines roots burrowing through his lungs, taking hold and choking him in silence. He clears his throat as he straightens up and squeezes the lollipop in his hand until it hurts. “Still, I'd like to take whatever you can prescribe me... Perhaps at this stage of infection, your medicine will actually kill it off, rather than simply stave off the inevitable.”

Tae gives him a hard look, but prescribes him the same thing she does Ichiko, though in a lighter dosage given the difference in their development; she instructs him to take it once every three days until he's finished, then come back for another check-up. He thanks her and leaves some money on the counter for her help, and remembers Akira's off on a trip for another two days the second he stops outside of Leblanc. He stares at his reflection, tight-lipped and tired, and turns.

Someone crashes into him coming out, their arms around his middle, and he instinctively jerks an elbow backwards; he feels them barely dodge, though they—she—still yelps, and he realizes with a pang of guilt it's only Futaba. She steps away from him when he turns around, rubbing her ear with a pout, and immediately backs up to the door. Goro gives her a wry, amused look, irritation fading the longer he looks at her, and shakes his head when she asks him to come in.

She repeats herself, less asking and more ordering, and he stares at her, hand raised to scratch the back of his head, and his brow presses together in concern.

“Akira told me to keep you fed if I saw you around,” she explains once they're settled in a booth. Goro hums, thoroughly unconvinced, and Futaba frowns across from him. “That's the truth! And I had something to ask you...”

“Ask him after you eat.” Sojiro sets down two plates of steaming curry and a matching pair of coffee-filled mugs. The smell immediately fetches the memory of sitting beside Akira at the counter, the four of them treating that morning like it was _normal_ ; his heart swells at it, and he stirs it all together as Sojiro and Futaba bicker quietly. Futaba groans loudly and slumps back in her seat, signifying her defeat, and he smiles gratefully at Sojiro, who flicks his gaze away and goes back around the counter.

He's only halfway through his own curry when Futaba slams her spoon down with a victorious _I'm finished!_ Goro pauses, glancing at her, and gives her a smile erring on strained when she shoves her plate aside and leans on the table between them.

“Can I finish eating as well..?”

“Sojiro only said _I_ had to be done to quiz you, not that we _both_ had to be. Also, you're taking way too long. My dungeon, my rules!”

“ _My_ dungeon, _my_ rules,” Sojiro snips back, but he doesn't comment further, and Futaba turns back with the smuggest look on her face. Goro flicks a glare between both of them and sighs, pushing his food aside; he laces his fingers together over the paper bag in his lap, leaning back in his seat, and nods for her to go on with her questioning... whatever it might be, though the uncertainty has his stomach doing flips. Her continued silence as the smug look fades and shifts into something far more searching worsens it, and she speaks before he can snap.

“You and Akira are pre-tty close. Like, really close. Like, way-more-than-friends-close.”

“I wouldn't say that.” It sounds like a lie to his own ears, and Goro fidgets with his bag beneath the table. “We're simply friends, with a normal friends-closeness.”

He doesn't even begin to know what that means. Futaba doesn't look like she knows, either, which—coupled with her previous comment—would be amusing, if not for the way she groans and flops back. He narrowly keeps one of her feet from landing in his food, Sojiro's scolding of _don't horse around_ falling on deaf ears. Futaba gives another exaggerated groan, laying her arms over her eyes, then huffs once. _Twice._

“Is that all? Totally thought there was something else going on...” She sound suspiciously disappointed, and the glance she sneaks him borders on worry. Goro frowns slightly, but when he asks her about her look, she readjusts her sitting position and wraps her arms around her legs with a long sigh. “It's nothing, juuuust a bump in the road. What do you think of him?”

“I— excuse me?”

“What do you think of Akira?”

“He's...” He pauses and purses his lips, then shakes his head. “He's incorrigible, but in a good way. I don't think I've felt as comfortable around anyone as I have him... He's charming and thoughtful, and he always brings a new perspective to the table—I'm thankful for that, and I admire it as well. We've disagreed a few times, but it hasn't worsened our friendship... I think it's made it stronger, even. It's important that—”

Goro stops, staring at Futaba, and feels his shoulders tighten. “What's that look for?”

“I'm just impressed.” She waves a hand, then leans her chin on it. “Have you ever told him anything like that?”

“I've... I've thanked him for his help before?” He fidgets with his bag again, brows drawn together. “But... No, why would I? There's no reason to say any of that normally.”

“Well, _yeah,_ but it could—” She stops herself so hard she bites her wince and cries out; Sojiro's gaze jerks over to them, and Goro raises his hands piteously. He stares between the two of them, then grabs Futaba an ice cube. She hums an item get tune as soon as she puts it on her tongue, and Goro watches them for another moment before he shakes his head and stands. _It could_ has his attention, admittedly but he isn't sure where she could be going with that...

“Thank you for the food, Sakura-san, and the company, Futaba-chan, but I must be going. I have some homework to finish up.” He offers them both a smile, holding his medicine behind his back, but stalls on backing out of the shop by Futaba's hand waving at him. She thumps upstairs, and Goro glances at Sojiro with a tilt of his head; Sojiro shrugs, and their attention returns to her as she comes back down with some pen and paper.

She shoves it at him when she's finished, and he lets his gaze rest on her for a moment longer before he takes the pad from her.

_BECAUSE HE'S LEAVING AT THE END OF THE YEAR AND I BET HE'D REALLY LIKE TO HEAR IT._

There's several other words before that too, but they've been scribbled out so thoroughly he can't make them out; he squints anyway, wondering if it has anything to do with why she'd cut herself off so quickly, then hands the pad back and grips his wrist, hidden behind him. “I see... I'll make certain to let him know somehow. I feel like it'd be a little embarrassing to simply tell him something like that right out, after all.”

Futaba writes another message ( _DON'T WAIT TOO LONG!!!!!!_ ) and lets him leave; Goro feels both of them glance at the white paper bag in his hands despite his better attempts to keep it out of sight, and he doesn't stop walking until he's in his apartment and faceplanting into his couch with a sigh.

Despite his exhaustion and the day's news, his mind works in overtime, and it doesn't stop until he drags himself to his bathroom for pills and an uneasy sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, it's finally getting to the end... i'm nervous and excited. as always, thank you for all your support! kudos, comments, and everything in-between mean the world to me. the next update will be october 19th!


	14. sakuraso II

The medicine is a spray—rather, he supposes it'd technically fall under the header of _inhaler_ , given its shape. Goro turns it over in his hands, then raises it to his lips and breathes in when he pushes the top down, as per the instructions enclosed in the bag. He isn't sure what he's expecting, but the sudden taste of sour slickness isn't it, and he clears his throat a few times as he sets the medicine down.

His notes glare up at him from the counter where he'd placed them earlier; he peruses them while he sips at water to try and rid himself of the grossness stuck to the back of his mouth. They're the same as always; death rates and causes, certain things marked out or underlined in red, and he makes a face as he shifts the top sheet away and lays the timeline of his love life side-by-side with his investigation. Just _when_ had he decided he enjoyed Akira's company outside of just friends? Certainly he'd been pleasantly warmed by his returned smile, not to mention his helpfulness at Rafflesia and later times; he had a quick mind and a penchant for letting him consider things in a new way. Incorrigibly charming, certainly not too bad to look at either—

Goro slides his hand over his mouth and turns away from his drink, closing his eyes. Akira is reckless but thoughtful; he's not a people-pleaser, exactly, but he does make other people's happiness and safety a priority. He slowly opens his eyes back up, staring at the boring white of his cabinet, and wonders what he'd say about him getting infected. _I told you to be careful_ or something, perhaps. Sounding exasperated and, maybe if he's allowed to indulge a little, worried—

His chest flutters uneasily and he shakes his head, turning his attention back to his timeline. Was it when Akira kissed him, or was it before that? Was it as soon as seeing him by chance at the station—when some of his shake was stolen, was his heart as well? No, that seems silly, and Goro frowns. Maybe when he'd asked them to be partners, and they'd had that fight on his couch, and he hadn't minded the thought of being kissed right then and there... but that's still a purely physical thing; it's hardly any sort of love or affection. Maybe it was just after Akira had walked him home and pressed him against his apartment door, determined to get his feelings across without being too forceful. He had stepped back looking less like his equal and more like the junior he was, someone in the midst of figuring things out and uncertain as to if they'd done the right thing... Goro stares at the date, drumming his fingers against it as he cups his chin with his other hand.

Maybe. Maybe then.

 

* * *

 

No. Not then.

He knows it as soon as he steps into Leblanc and sees Akira standing behind the counter, and he wonders if he's going to smell like Rafflesia and coffee mixed together again today. Goro flicks his gaze to the other customers as soon as Akira looks at him; there's only two older men, mumbling something about the weather and people getting sick. He feels slightly vindicated in his decision to wear a flu mask today, and at Akira's greeting takes a seat not too far from the door. Akira tilts his head like it's an odd choice, but shuffles closer and leans his forearms on the counter between them.

“What can I get you, detective?”

“The blend you've made me before is quite nice,” he replies, chancing a glance at him; Akira's a fair bit tanner, and sun-kissed skin looks good on him. He clears his throat and tugs down his mask, smiling amicably. “Perhaps that? I did say I looked forward to tasting your progress once, after all.”

Akira chuckles, but nods and steps away; Goro tracks him out of the corner of his eye, turning his face a little to keep him there. He looks different now—more at ease working with his materials and tools, a gentle slope to his shoulders and a small smile on his face. He still turns a cup over in his hands, but it's more of an idle motion than a nervous tell—though when their eyes meet, the apples of his cheeks still redden slightly (self-conscious, or not used to being watched?), and he can feel his own heat up in reply. He ducks his gaze away, rooting through his attaché-case instead, and murmurs his thanks when coffee is set in front of him after a few more minutes. He slips his fingers around the handle delicately, lifting it up, and pauses in his fingering of his papers as soon as the hot drink hits his tongue.

The taste makes his heart squeeze, and he coughs into it, roughly setting it down; it splashes a little in its cup, but doesn't make it outside of there, and Goro uses both hands to cover his mouth as he coughs again and again and _again_. It's terribly painful, and he's almost afraid he's not going to be able to breathe again—but it settles eventually, and he gradually becomes aware of Akira standing beside him, his hand rubbing hurried, gentle circles on his back. Goro blearily stares at his coffee, thankfully free of flowers, then peeks at his hands; also free of petals, and he drops them onto the counter with a soft groan.

“My apologies, Kurusu-kun. It seems I've caught a bug recently... I hadn't meant to frighten you any.”

“You didn't.” It's a plainly obvious lie, punctuated by the press of Akira's hand on his back, and Goro wonders if he can tell he's lying, too. It isn't a complete one by any means—technically speaking, he _has_ caught one—but it's enough that he feels guilty for telling it. Akira takes a seat beside him; Goro immediately finds himself realizing how close his thighs are to his knees, and simultaneously realizes there's no way to put a little distance between them without it being obvious. He settles for cupping his coffee again and sighing, studying the color as he does so.

The baggy of purple petals he's taken to carrying with him burns a hole in his pocket the longer Akira lingers, and Goro sets it on the counter between them when he can't stand it anymore; he shakes his head and raises a hand when Akira opens his mouth, waiting for him to shut it with a crease in his brow before he speaks. “I'm aware I said I was taking a break from this sort of thing, however... Well, I suppose I'm a little soft-hearted. These were given to me recently, and my own attempts to figure out what flower they belong to have been disheartening, to say the least.”

Akira watches him and Goro almost thinks he can see right through the lie, but he nods after a second and pulls the baggy closer, scrutinizing the petals inside. He traces them with a fingernail, and Goro sips his coffee to keep fresher ones from appearing spontaneously in front of them. As good as Tae's medicine might be, he's not ready to risk being exposed so carelessly here; the scolding isn't worth it.

“They're crocus petals,” Akira finally says, sliding out of his chair. Goro tilts his head and Akira gives him a small wave, heading upstairs; he returns shortly with a spiral notebook, and he leans closer when it's set on the petals between them. Behind the rather nondescript cover are dozens of drawings and notations—how to care for flowers, their meanings, the best way to arrange them... He can't hide his surprise, and he catches Akira's ears reddening when he looks at him. “I decided to keep my own journal for my job,” he mumbles by way of explanation, playing with his fringe. “And for when I needed to help you out, too... I figured it'd be easier than asking my boss every time for help.”

“You're more dedicated to this than I am,” Goro teases, stifling a laugh when Akira shakes his head and chuckles, and grows quiet as he watches the pages flip. Crocus soon comes into view, and they lean in together to look at the information; their shoulders bump, and his fingers twitch around his cup. _Regretful love_ looks up at him from the page, and he smiles wryly. Yes, well, that certainly suits him. After all, he certainly wasn't supposed to fall for anyone, much less put them in a similar position to Ichiko and her partner Kayo... “Thank you for the help, Kurusu-kun. I appreciate it, as always.”

“It's no problem,” with another shake of his head, and Goro sips at his drink quietly as Akira circles back around the counter just in time for one of the older men to hail him for more food. He watches him move through the kitchen, leaning just out of sight but just visible enough to gather the motions: a few gentle stirs for the pot with a ladle, the soft click of the rice cooker audible as Akira opens it and scoops out fluffy white rice onto a plate, the way one side of him shifts as he ladles curry beside it, the small smile he turns on when he steps out of the kitchen with the plate. Goro shifts in his seat to watch him place it with something softly said, and he hurriedly turns back to his coffee when Akira looks back over at him.

It's not as subtle as he wishes it was. He finishes his drink and thanks Akira for the company, collecting his things and smiles pleasantly when he's told not to be a stranger—and to call him Akira, not Kurusu.

 

* * *

 

So he isn't, and he does. He visits Leblanc as often as his work (schoolwork, casework, finding-lost-pets-work) allows him to; he takes his medicine before he goes if it's a day for it, he takes coffee and curry when he arrives regardless of the time, and he and Akira fall back into an easy back-and-forth over the course of the month. Goro wonders if this is what having a best friend is like; he wonders if it's what _dating_ is like, and he buries the thought beneath mild spices mixed with rice. They chat about ordinary things, like school and their mutual friends, and he feels Akira watching him when he's occupied with his phone. The gaze is piercing, like it's searching for something, but it's never on him when he looks back up.

The one time he catches it, the October rain is pouring on the shop's roof, and it's in the reflection of the window beside him. Goro holds it for a moment, brow furrowing, and he says, “You look like you want to ask something, Akira-kun.”

Akira blinks in surprise, then raises a hand to the back of his neck to rub it. It's a tic Goro hasn't quite decided if he should place in “embarrassment” or “shame”; it has an equal chance of being both. He tugs his flu mask up again and turns to him, cheek coming to rest against his index and middle fingers.

“Well?”

“I wanted to know how your case was going,” Akira replies, and Goro stares at him; his confusion is mirrored on his company's face after a moment, and both of them realize something in the same breath-take. He can see it in Akira's eyes, widening a fraction and his mouth doing the same, and he clears his throat to interrupt him.

“It's going well. I'm leery of encouraging any confessions without thorough research into the object of his desire's feelings, after what happened with Fujioka-chan, so I've merely relayed the flower's meaning and offered to be an ear to listen.” He pauses, weighing Akira's expression—which is borderline incredulous—and flashes a look at his watch. He laughs politely, standing up, dread snaking through his gut as if it's the roots of his crocus taking hold. “Well, it's getting quite late—I should be leaving.”

It isn't late at all, and the thunder rolling outside gives him pause long enough for Akira to come around the counter and grab his wrist. Goro flinches away, the touch electrifying and burning something like _guilt_ like a brand onto his skin, and rubs the area self-consciously when he steps back.

“Thank you for the company and food as always, Akira-kun.” He doesn't even sound like himself. He knows this, and he can tell Akira does, too; his brows knit beneath his bangs, and Goro steps back when he tries to grab him again. To his credit, he doesn't try again—he just lowers his hand and slides both of them into his pockets, gaze dropping between them.

“Just so you know,” Akira says as soon as Goro grips the door's handle, his tone forcibly nonchalant, “you're a terrible liar.”

Goro stares at the rain drumming just past the glass, then at the misty white spot his breath leaves on its cool surface when he exhales slowly. There are two ways to handle this: with feigned ignorance (an option that is both safe and risky in equal measure, depending on how Akira reacts), or... by calling out _his_ poor lying habits in turn. It isn't the first time the thought that Akira hasn't told _him_ the truth's crossed his mind, though it's the first time it's snapped so quickly to the forefront of it, and it's the first time it's been worded so strongly in that way, instead of being wrapped in uneasy quiet.

He squares his shoulders and pivots on his heel, chin lifting when he does so.

“That makes two of us then, doesn't it?” Thunder rolls above them in perfect time, and Akira's eyes jerkily meet his own. It's confirmation enough, and he squeezes the door's handle again in mimicry of the way his heart squeezes in his chest before he lets it go and leans back against it with a sigh. He raises his hands to his face, pressing them there for a long moment before he curls his fingers beneath his mask and slowly pulls it off, letting it dangle loosely at his side when he's done. Akira's eyes follow it, lips thin, and Goro smiles. “I suppose there's no need for that old thing, then, is there.”

“I guess not,” comes the reply, a stilted moment later, and with a small tilt of his head they take opposite sides of a booth. Well—Akira turns the sign to closed, mumbling an apology under his breath for the Sojiro that isn't here at the moment, but they take opposite sides and Goro feels interrogation settle over his shoulders like a tattered blanket. Of all the places he hadn't wanted his real work to cross with... He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, smile fading. Lying was one thing, but hiding something like this—even if he'd been doing the same thing—makes his insides squirm and twist. The air around them tenses with the prolonged silence, and Goro exhales slowly.

“So, Akira-kun,” he begins, watching his company's lips purse at the measured tone he uses for all his official investigations, “just how long have you been suffering in love?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahaha, well. well! well. 
> 
> the final chapter will go up **november 2nd**. as always, thank you for the support; your comments, kudos, and everything else means a lot to me.


	15. sakuraso III

Akira flicks his gaze away, and Goro can tell this is going to be a longer night than he'd thought. He cages his mouth with his fingers, studying him—the clench of his jaw, the straightness of his shoulders. His posture reminds him of their disagreements, and he lays his hand over his other, straightening up.

“Let me rephrase my question.” He waits for steel grey eyes to grace him with their presence again before he shakes his head. “What I meant to ask was... How long have you been infected, Akira-kun? Rather, when did it begin?”

“... Sometime in the summer,” he murmurs, the softness deafening with only the gentle hum of electricity and the fans above to accompany it. “I only started going to Takemi after Haru found out though... What about you?”

Of course he'd ask. Goro hums and decides that if he's expecting Akira to be honest with him, he'll have to be honest as well. _Not that I was planning on lying to him in the first place,_ he thinks wryly, and matches his company's tone. “A little over a month ago or so. I have reason to suspect that it was because I came into contact with retribution lilies... Ah, though Fujioka-chan also decided to cough up a bouquet of poppies on my floor around the same time, so I suppose that could have been where I caught it as well. I'm surprised that you've come into contact with someone with it though.”

“Are you?” Akira tilts his head, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “There's still a lot of Shujin students with it.”

“It's a shame to hear that the cases there haven't abated in the slightest since April.” He frowns slightly, then sets aside the question of _how did previous epidemics end_ for later. Right now, there's just Akira to worry about. “But that's not important at the moment. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why didn't _you_ tell me?”

Goro blinks at the return fire, then chuckles against his fingertips. “Because I didn't believe it to be serious, though I should know better. Fujioka-chan also thought hers wasn't a serious affection, and yet...” He trails off, realizing a split second later he's acknowledged his feelings as something more than fond aloud and to the person responsible for them, and his cheeks alight with heat. He clears his throat, avoiding Akira's curious look and feeling his anger slip through his fingers like sand. “I'm hoping it simply disappears or something to that effect, quite honestly—things of this sort never turn out well for me.”

Akira holds him in his gaze for a moment longer (and it is a good, long moment) before it shifts again; Goro lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, only to draw it right back when Akira agrees with him.

“I know for a fact the person I like doesn't like me the same way,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “so... Just getting over it would be ideal, even if it means being stuck with it until the next time I like someone this much.”

So he _has_ moved on. The knowledge curls terribly in his stomach, and he thinks of vines snaking inside him, his veins turning into receptacles for the water his flowers need. It's a silly notion, but that doesn't stop him from having it, and Goro smiles sadly, for himself and for Akira. “I see,” he replies softly, setting his hands on the table between them and sitting up straight against the booth. He's thankful for Takemi's medicine—he can't imagine how he'd be feeling, how he'd look right now, if it weren't strangling the crocuses that threaten to strangle him—but he still feels like covering the table with violet petals and watching Akira's expression when he realizes what it means, after he says something like that.

It's too cruel though, and Goro discards the thought. He breathes in instead, focusing on clear air, clear lungs, and pushes himself to standing. “Please keep taking your medicine then—I will as well.”

Akira hums, standing with him, and he walks him the short distance to the door; the rain continues, heavy and cold, and Goro turns just in time to see a sleek, black umbrella held out to him. He pauses, lips pressing together before they turn up in mock-smile (polite and practiced, just like he used to do for his colleagues), and he accepts it with a soft murmur of thanks. He's already out the door, the rain pattering on the thin fabric between it and him, when Akira calls his name, and he turns again, tilting his head.

“Come back around, okay?”

He doesn't know why he's asking, but Goro nods regardless and wishes him a good night before he starts down the street to the station.

 

* * *

 

“It's weird how much rain we've been getting,” Ann says, between fries, and Goro nods, watching Akira talk at the counter to a few of their other number. Which one of them had caught his attention after that night? Certainly he seemed close with Yusuke, but he and Haru weren't anything to sneeze at, either. “I mean, it'd make sense if we were on Port Island, since I think they had that typhoon a while back around this time, right?”

“No, that was in September.” Makoto's voice is clear beside him, but Akira's is soft and hard to catch. The quirk of his lips isn't though, nor is the startled laugh that bubbles out, and Goro cages his frown with his fingers, the cloth of his mask rough beneath his tips. “Still... You're right. Even Sis commented to me about it before she left for work this morning.”

“Maybe it's some kind of omen,” Goro finally chimes in, eliciting a few stares, and he laughs, darting his gaze from Akira's when they meet. His heart drums in his ears, like he's been caught doing something he knows he's not supposed to be, which is stupid. People look at each other all the time. His own feelings on Akira don't matter. “That's simply what a few of the older generation have been saying recently... I don't believe in such things myself, of course.”

Ryuji mentions his mom saying something like that too, and the focus switches off of him again; he slowly returns to watching Akira, finding him watching right back, and stares instead of doing the incriminating action of flicking his gaze away again. Their impromptu contest only breaks when Morgana meows loudly for food and Futaba flops against Akira, arms around his waist. Akira chuckles, ruffling her hair, and Goro dissects the motion without thinking: familial, nothing else. He leaves the front and heads to the kitchen, and from the booth he shares with Makoto and Ryuji, he can watch him cook without trouble. It's not as clear as if he'd been sitting at the counter proper, but it's good enough, and he leans into his hand as he studies him.

It doesn't last long. Makoto nudges his side for his attention and he gives it to her, as slow as taking a drag from a cigarette. She raises her eyebrows and he mirrors her look, then winces when Ryuji kicks him under the table and leans in.

“Dude, you keep starin' at Akira,” he whispers—not as quietly as he'd _like_ for him to, but given what he knows about Ryuji, this is probably about as quiet as he gets. Goro laughs politely, shaking his head and opening his mouth before Ryuji gives him a dismissive wave. “I don't wanna hear it, it's the same way Takamaki kept looking at Suzui during practice.”

Goro's mouth stays open, his blood chilling in his veins, and he slowly forces his lips to meet, swallowing back his excuses. The floor between his feet is extra interesting today, with a number of different patterns he hadn't noticed before due to negligence. He grunts softly when Ryuji kicks him again and definitely does not pout when Makoto leans her weight against him and points out that his silence is as good as confirmation towards anything Ryuji says.

“I'm simply worried about him, as he seems like the type who has a delicate constitution, but wouldn't tell anyone if he was sick or not,” he replies, words stilted and unnatural. It isn't technically a lie—he knows Akira is sick and knows he's been keeping it a secret—but it isn't convincing and he knows it. Thankfully, Sojiro returns from shopping just in time and tells them all to get home before the rain picks up again. Ryuji hops up, and Goro scoots out of the booth to let Makoto out as well; she stops just as she does so and touches his arm, a crease to her forehead.

“You should say something,” she tells him quietly, and moves away before he can reply. Eventually, the only ones left at the front are him and Haru, Sojiro having stepped out to the back; Akira stirs curry and hums the same jingle the rice maker makes when it's done cooking, and Goro takes a seat when he's motioned to it. Futaba's with Akira, Morgana in her arms as she bounces on her feet, and Haru watches them with him for a moment before she regards him with a smile.

“Is there a reason you're staying, Akechi-kun?”

“Not particularly,” though he makes the mistake of glancing at the kitchen, lips pursed. Haru hums softly, like she understands something he doesn't, and he turns to face her fully. “Okumura-chan, would you consider yourself close to Akira-kun?”

“So he's Akira-kun now?” She replies, and it takes him a moment to realize she's teasing him; he nods, and she takes his explanation of Akira asking him to call him so with a wide smile and her hands clasped in her lap. “That's wonderful. I was wondering when he'd finally do so... He's casual with the rest of us; it didn't seem right to leave you out, especially considering...”

Goro blinks at her trailing off, straightening up slightly. “Considering?”

“You haven't noticed?” She asks back, her brows furrowing, and he sorts through what she could mean. That they've become better friends? Naturally he had. That Akira had liked him, once? He'd been very forthcoming about it with that kiss. That he'd moved on and found unrequited feelings elsewhere, just as his very own were blooming into return? He learned that a few days ago. When he shakes his head slowly, Haru frowns and leans in, motioning him closer.

He obliges, the warmth of her hand on his shoulder a welcome, grounding weight in the face of the rest of her reply: “Akira-kun likes you, Akechi-kun.”

“That's impossible,” he replies, aware of the way his voice cracks at the end, and Akira interrupts their conversation with a call for curry. Sojiro slips back in just in time to order Morgana off of the counter when he jumps up, though the cat doesn't listen until Futaba sits down in front of him and gives him a small shove; he meows piteously, bouncing down and rubbing against Akira when he sets food down. Haru's mouth is a thin line in his peripheral, and when he glances back to her, she tells him it's not impossible at all.

It isn't, she stresses even softer, and if he didn't speak to Akira about it and sort things out, then she'd be very mad. “He's sick, Akechi-kun,” she adds before she stands, and Goro stares at her tense shoulders as she gives the rest of them a bow and a farewell smile; Akira had mentioned that she knew about his infection, so it isn't a surprise for her to say so, but the implications are... The bell chimes her exit, door shut somewhat abruptly behind her, and he feels eyes crawl over him in the quiet.

“She's rather intimidating when you've managed to get onto her bad side, isn't she,” he says in the silence, and Futaba laughs behind him. They relax into an uneasy discussion about before—Halloween party suggestions, apparently, given the season—and Goro agrees to be their third witch, provided they're able to get him a costume.

His mind works over _Akira-kun likes you_ and _I know for a fact the person I like doesn't like me the same way_ until the words are mush in his mind and his stomach is turning and twisting in his gut in an attempt to keep from falling, and he finds Akira's hand drifting close to his. Goro jerks it away, warm under his collar, and apologizes for staying late. Sojiro shakes his head, Futaba frowns in worry, and Akira offers his room, again, since it's late, again.

He thinks about being that close to him and feels his crocuses twist into bouquets, again.

The attic is muted, their conversation coming in languid snippets. Goro sits on the couch and watches Akira pull his shirt off in the darkness, the moon lighting his stomach and waist in thick, pale lines shining between window blinds. When they're both changed and seeing implements are put away, Akira offers his bed, again, and Goro hesitates before he shambles his way over and sits on the edge of it beside him. He watches blurry dust dance on the floor, wonders if he's going to cough up petals halfway through the night, and asks, “Do you like me, Akira-kun?”

Akira makes a noise like he'd been planning on breathing and aborted it halfway through, and Goro smiles slightly as he glances over; Akira returns his glance with a waning smile and clears his throat, fist pressed to his lips. The affirmative is in his eyes, exposed without their glasses and clear this close—clearer still when Goro laughs shakily and sits back on his hands, tilting his head back. Had this all been a mistake, then? Worrying for a month over nothing, worsening his own condition, assuming things were true? Or is he wrongly assuming now, mistaking friendship for something more? He squeezes his eyes shut, teeth grit against a cough, and swallows hard.

“Another question, if you'll permit me to ask it.” The words drag from his throat, and Akira's _sure_ sounds just as bad. “Am I the person you like? The one that's caused whatever flower you have to grow.”

Akira's quiet for a long moment, filling the attic with heartbeats and breathing forced to be steady, and answers, “It's primrose. Do you know what those mean, Akechi?”

“I'm hardly the expert here,” Goro replies with no heat, no irritation. Akira hums in an _I know_ way, and Goro thinks about Akira's journal. There'd been a number of flowers in it, but had primrose been in there? It should have been, if Akira was suffering with it, and he tracks through his memory until he finds it teetering just on the edge. “First love,” he murmurs, frowning slightly. “They represent first love, correct?”

Akira hums a victory tune, and Goro slowly opens his eyes, letting them adjust before he looks at him again. “That doesn't answer my question, Akira-kun.”

“Doesn't it?” A cheeky reply that doesn't sound cheeky at all, and Goro holds his stare before he rolls his shoulders and glances away. Akira found ways for them to spend time together; Akira invited him to his workplace and home; Akira kissed him after lunch ( _a date_ , he realizes, and realizes too that a number of their outings could be considered such); Akira, Akira, Akira... has liked him for a long time, he thinks, and wonders if that's the hint, then. He's his first love, a silly notion that warms him anyway, and he pushes himself up with a sigh. He isn't wrongly assuming, and this stupid crocus in his chest is born out of uncertainty that shouldn't have even existed—uncertainty that he, as a detective dedicated to the truth, should have grasped and flung the curtain open on.

“No,” he replies, his body thrumming with sudden, restless energy at the thoughts culminating in his mind, “you're right. I suppose it does. Thank you, Akira-kun.”

Akira laughs at that, a sharp, jagged sound that strikes him as _not quite_ right; he stands, face shadowed, and Goro's head jerks up. “If you wanted a second chance to reject me—”

“It's just the opposite,” he says, not caring how hurried he sounds; Akira shakes his head, and Goro grabs his wrist before he can walk away; he pauses, turning to look down at him, and Goro thinks of poetry and ways to tell someone you love them without saying the words at all. His fingers tighten and he pulls him back down, catching his shoulder with his other hand so they don't just crash into each other, all teeth instead of the softness and lips that he wants, and forces himself to stop shaking and thinking about the past long enough to draw them together.

His heart beats noisily in his ears, and he imagines he can hear Akira's the way he can feel it under the heel of his hand, fast and hard.

 

* * *

 

 **Akira Kurusu:** How're you feeling?

Of course he'd ask that. Goro glares at his phone, then at the scattered petals of crocuses on his desk. He had heard from Ann that this happened with Shiho, but he hadn't expected it to be so painful, especially since he'd been taking medicine to keep the blooms from getting _too_ unruly... He coughs again, watching them spiral in the air, and taps a reply with one hand as he brushes the petals off his work with his other.

 **Goro Akechi:** Terrible, thank you. I've been attempting to focus on work, however it's been rather difficult.

He sets his phone down, picking his pencil back up with a sigh, and pauses mid-stroke when his phone buzzes with reply.

 **Akira Kurusu:** The coughing, right? Takemi says that'll happen for another few days, but if it keeps up past the week, we should check in with her.  
**Akira Kurusu:** She wants our flowers too, by the way.

Well... That's good information, and he fills his hand with petals again with a short coughing fit; a dead bloom slick with blood tumbles out with them, and he narrows his eyes at it before he grabs his phone and moves to his kitchen. A few taps later and he cradles it between his shoulder and his ear, listening to the soft beep and chuckling when Akira greets him with, “Missing me that much?”

“Hardly. My hands are busy at the moment though, and you're obviously eager to talk.” Goro shuffles through his cabinets and drawers, a soft _ah-ha_ popping from his mouth when he finds his box of sandwich bags. He drops the bloom in, blood and all, and moves to wash his hands. “Have you been alright? Procrastinating on your homework aside.”

“Procrastination is how you know I'm doing fine,” Akira replies, voice warm and mock-offended in his ear, and Goro can't help but smile—and cough again, setting the phone aside to brace himself over the sink. He hears Akira's worried voice over the receiver as it gets harder and harder to breath, and there are spots behind his eyelids by the time he _can_. He takes a few gulping breaths, chest feeling as light as it did two nights ago, and stares at the mess of crocus flowers, browning and curling at their edges. He slowly picks up his phone again, the sour tang of blood heavy on his tongue, and wipes his mouth.

“I'm perfectly fine, Akira, don't sound so worried—it seems you speaking of our flowers may have jinxed mine into coming out.” He pauses, letting the mock-irritation hang there, before he chuckles, resting against the counter with his face in one of his hands. “Thank you for that. It was becoming a terrible pain... I hope yours comes out smoother.”

“Mine came out this morning in my curry,” Akira replies after a moment, and Goro barks a laugh at that, startling himself and feeling delight bloom in his chest as Akira's joins him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **crocus - crocus, symbolizing trust and joy of youth; belief and lust if yellow; and regretful love if purple  
>  sakurasō - (japanese cherry) primrose, symbolizing first love and purity**
> 
> it's been a long half year, everyone.
> 
> thank you for joining me on this journey! it's been a learning experience from start to finish, and it's been a wonderful story to write. thank you for reading, thank you for talking, thank you for commenting, thank you for subbing, thank you for the kudos, the recommendations, the support... and a very special thank you to my beta, [Peace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sundrymunity), for listening to me cry and sob about this story and helped me keep it all together until the very end.
> 
> until next time ♥


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